Two Weeks of Eternity
by No One Mourns the Wicked
Summary: Leroux based. What happened during the two weeks Christine lived with Erik? EC. THE FINAL VERSION OF CHAPTER 16 IS FINALLY UP!
1. Erik's Introduction

A/N: Phantom is copyright Gaston Leroux. Much of the dialogue is quotes from his book.

I hated myself. I hated myself for causing her distress, and I hated myself for being so damn overjoyed at her tears. She cried for me, for my well-being, where no one ever had. But it was not for me, not truly, that droplets sprung onto her pale cheeks. No, she sobbed over the loss of her angel, and I was a demon.

I moaned, and my heart pounded as I wracked my mind. I took up the violin, and played as her father would have, in a triumphant cry of life so that she would know she was not alone. She closed her eyes, though tears still streamed down her face, and listened. I sung dominantly, and knew she would obey.

"Come, and believe in me! Those who believe in me will live again!" She stood, her dress swaying lightly as her eyes bore into the mirror that hid me. "Walk! Those who have believed in me cannot die!" She did not hesitate to follow the voice of her angel.

Her calm face and glazy eyes did not register the darkness as I peeled away the mirror. The moment her feet hit the cold stone ground, however, her eyes shot open, and she glanced back, her mouth opening in alarm and shutting again. She twirled around once more before her scream vibrated off the icy walls. Wanting only to reassure her, I stretched my bony hand forward and gently but firmly held her wrist. She screamed again, but knowing I couldn't risk letting her be heard, I draped an arm around her petite waist, and picked her up.

She stopped moving altogether, and for a moment I was afraid I had frightened her to death. The faint tingle of breath on my neck made me shiver, and I pulled her closer, inhaling the glorious scent of her lavender in her curls. I had waited so long for this! To hold her, to have her near me, that she would know me as Erik; the man who loved, adored, and worshipped her.

As I walked, she eventually turned her head to look at me, at the mask that clouded my face. My tearful, unblinking eyes pleaded with her, but she tensed, and I knew she was going to scream. I quickly placed a shaking hand over her mouth, and my flesh met with the smooth texture of her rosy lips. In my own moment of bliss, I scarcely minded the terror in her eyes as her body went limp.

My fingers traced the curves of her beautiful mouth, lingering on the feel of her. I could have easily kissed her then, and her sleeping for would never have known. But she was not mine to kiss, and I did not deserve it.

I walked further on until I came to the fountain imbedded in the wall, with its water gushing out and seeping under the floor. I gently laid Christine down, resting her head on my knees while her curls sprawled out beneath her. She looked so much like an angel that I quivered at the thought of waking her. My yellow eyes pierced and memorized her face, for I knew this moment of peace would be short lived.

I decidedly took a handkerchief from my pocket, and dipped it into the cool water. Ringing it out, I gently dabbed the soft cloth on her forehead. She stirred, but did not open her eyes. I was even more careful as I attended to her, and my heart fluttered when she gave the smallest hint of a smile. But then she did open her eyes, and frowned, making a feeble attempt to push my hands away. I shrank back.

"Who are you?" She asked feebly, for though she realized I was not her angel, I don't think she understood much else. What could I do but sigh?

I whistled softly, and a great white horse came to stand beside me. It lowered its head, and passed its warm breath over my beloved's face. She seemed to calm at this sign of familiarity.

"Cesar!" she murmured, and looked up and me with sincere necessity. I heard her silent plea and gathered her up and placed her on his back, knowing she was too weak to get on by herself. I followed her suit, and once I had secured her in my arms I lightly kicked Cesar's sides, and he trotted down the path without any indication.

Christine gradually relaxed into me as torpor replaced her fear. I relished this moment, wondering if she would ever allow me to hold her when she would know what I was, and what I had done.

We stopped before the lake, and Christine eyed the scene with an emotion between distaste and wonderment. I guided her off Cesar, whose hooves pounded as he ran back up the steps, and into the boat. The lantern that hung off the tip of our tiny vessel reflected the black water and mist. We strayed from the wharf, and though my stokes were even and controlled, my eyes never left her.

When we reached shore, I took her hand in mine, and led her into my drawing room. Her strength and consciousness was returning, and she opened her mouth to scream again before the light flooded her. She eyed my house with a sudden interest, and her gaze rested on the bouquet of Parisian flowers I had placed in the middle. Then she turned to me.

"Do not be afraid, Christine," I told her, "You are in no danger." At first she simply gaped at me, but then her eyes flashed with anger, and she stepped closer and reached for my mask. I dodged her hand, and quickly fixed my earlier statement.

"You are in no danger if you do not touch my mask." She seemed to contemplate me for a moment, her eyes bearing into mine. I shook guiltily and kneeled before her with humble nature I would show to no one else.

She burst into tears, covering her face in her hands. I understood the reason for her sobs, and said gently, almost dejectedly, the words I had been too scared to utter before.

"It's true, Christine. I am not an angel, a spirit, or a ghost. I am Erik."

Her tears increased, and soon she was shaking. "Oh, damn me!" I let out a frustrated cry. "I'm a monster, Christine, I know I am. I've tricked you, and I deserve all your harshest words and hate." I continued, more gently:

"Christine, I did it for love. I-I love you," I whispered, not trusting my voice. I had never said those words to anyone, not in all my years. "You were so lonely Christine, I thought only to help you when I took on the guise of your angel. I beg of you, forgive me!" My breath was strangled now, as I fought to tell her all that was in my heart. I banged my head on the carpet, now level with her bare feet.

"I do not deserve your forgiveness," I wept. She stumbled back, and told me angrily:

"Give me my freedom, or I will only despise you!" I stood, and she stepped away at the sight of my towering form.

"You may have it," I said simply. She looked at me, her beautiful blue eyes round and skeptical. "I will show you the path, so that you may go whenever you please." But I opened my mouth then, and let the lyrics of Desdemona's love song flow through me. My voice filled the room, and seemingly her soul, for she closed her eyes, and she stayed.

She began to sway, and I knew I was lulling her to sleep. I took her in my arms, and led her into her room, the room I had made especially for her. I prayed that she would like it, and find peace with me by the morning.

* * *

Well, what did you think? I'll update as soon as I can, but your criticisms or ideas, and reviews in general are really appreciated. Thanks for reading! 


	2. Christine's Kidnapping

Hey guys! Big thanks to Librarian of the Deep, Leonsalanna, Doomed Delight, and Reading Redhead (Thanks especially for yours, it made me continue, lol) for your reviews. Once again, I do not own Phantom, all that stuff is Copyright Leroux.

* * *

Tears streamed down my face as I ran towards my dressing room. My body was shaking tremulously from the impact of the fallen chandelier. I had always wondered what I would think of before I died, and now I knew: Raoul and my angel. One of them was safe, but the other…I shuddered to think he might be hurt.

I burst through the door. "Angel?" I called. "Angel, please, if you are alive, tell me so!" When I received no answer, I slumped to the floor, burying my face in my hands.

"Angel…" I whispered.

My heart jumped at the familiar chords being played on my father's violin. I quickly wiped my eyes, and made an attempt to stand. _He is alive!_ was all my mind could comprehend. I quietly berated myself for my foolish notions—he was an angel, and angels do not die. I shut my eyes as his life giving melody surged through me.

He commanded me, and my head spun at the sound of his voice:

"Come, and believe in me! Those who believe in me will live again!" I stood steadily, my dress swaying beneath me. "Walk! Those who have believed in me cannot die!" I trusted my angel, and I followed.

His hypnotic voice wrapped around me like loving arms, and I was instantly entranced. I stood at the mirror, looking for some sign of him, as though my angel was something I could see and touch.

And then it was dark. My head snapped up, and his comforting voice fell away as though it had never been. I could see nothing but black, and feel nothing but the cold. I screamed—where was my angel?

I felt a bony, icy hand grasp my wrist, and terrifying images ran through my mind. In a moment of sheer panic, I tried to fling away from the creature in the shadows, but it grabbed me. It held me to it, trying to silence me. I wanted to run and scream out for my angel to save me, for surely I had been caught by some demon!

I was so terrified—I could not think clearly! I shook as it picked me up, and could not think of what to do. Would I be killed? I thought absently that the creature had the same build as any man. As he—for I was sure at this point it must be some form of a 'he'—walked with me in his arms, lanterns illuminated us faintly, but it was enough to confirm my assumptions. It was no devil that carried me, but a man! Although I could not see his face—shadows seemed to have covered it—my new knowledge sent my thoughts whirling.

I had obviously fallen into the hands of a madman! I went to scream, to cry out for anyone who would help me, but no sooner had the thought crossed my mind than a hand flew to my mouth. I felt a wave of nausea as I breathed in. His hand, which shook and caressed all at once, smelled distinctly of death! His death hands were the last things my mind registered before a hazy black overtook me.

When I came to, a cool cloth was being laid on my forehead with such gentle attentiveness that it made me want to cry. When I opened my eyes to see the sweet face of my savior, I was met with the harsh reality of my captor. But I was no longer so afraid, and I asked feebly:

"Who are you?" His only response was a sigh. I saw then that my captor had not only been hidden in shadow, but was truly wearing a mask. It seemed to have been spun from rich velvet in the shade of a moonless night, and fit tightly to his unrecognizable features.

He whistled then, and I tried to shake off my lethargy enough to stand. What on earth was he doing? I thought I was hallucinating as Cesar came trotting up to my side, lowering his head for me stroke. I blinked back my surprise, then eyed the masked man questioningly. He bent over me, placing one of his death hands on my back, slipping the other one underneath my knees and he held me to him. I felt strangely—perhaps inappropriately—safe.

He seated himself behind me on Cesar, and when the horse's trots became harder, I leaned back against him. I thought it strange that the horse knew exactly where to turn, even in the darkness, without any indication.

A heavy fog was rising from the ground, and as I stared I saw that we had stopped before a long, slowly flowing lake. I had heard one ran under the Opera House, but I never thought I would actually see it! Fear slowly returned to me—was he going to drown me? My eyes never left his as he helped me off the horse. No, I concluded, he wasn't going to drown me.

Cesar trotted back up the steps as the man helped me into a gondola, one that had been tied to the wharf. His strokes were graceful, though it seemed he had little concentration for rowing; his eyes never left my face, but I rarely met his. The yellow eyes that glinted in the darkness, so odd and alluring at the same time, seemed to catch and draw my near. I shivered, although my thoughts of being murdered were slowly falling away.

When we reached the shore he took his hand in mine, gently but firmly pulling me along. I saw a door, but before I had time to think on what it was doing there, he pushed it open. I gasped as light flooded my vision. We were in a drawing room! An underground drawing room!

It was elegant, to say the least. Decorated with lavish paintings and clean, wooden furniture that supported Parisian bouquets, it was the epitome of normalcy and elegance. I turned to him questioningly.

"Do not be afraid, Christine," he told me, "You are in no danger." Had the matter of my kidnapping not been so serious, I may have laughed. Not hurt me? Who did man think he was, anyway? Anger bubbled inside me, and I reached out to grab his mask. He dodged it, and the look in his glinting eyes was enough instill terror in me again.

"You are in no danger if you do not touch my mask," he corrected himself. I knew by his sober demeanor he was serious, but I also perceived something else. His voice. As I heard him speak, a dawning thought crept into my mind. He must have noticed the change in me, for he knelt in front of me with strange, humble nature.

My angel and this man were one.

I buried my face in my hands, helplessly crying out all of my frustration. All this time, all these months, I had been tutored by a madman! And I-I was foolish enough to believe in him! I wept for my idiocy, and did not look down at my anguished captor.

"Oh, damn me!" I heard him curse. "I'm a monster, Christine, I know I am. I've tricked you, and I deserve all your harshest words and hate." I did not take comfort in his sincerity. He continued, more gently:

"Christine, I did it for love. I-I love you," he whispered. Had I not been so consumed with my fate, I may have noticed the stabbing pain in my heart when he ushered those words. He sounded so…sad. It was as though he had never said them in his life.

"You were so lonely, Christine. I thought only to help you when I took on the guise of your angel. I beg of you, forgive me!" I noticed that he had begun to weep as well.

"I do not deserve your forgiveness," he said, his face now level with my feet. I quickly stopped myself from pitying him, and instead cried:

"Give me my freedom, or I will only despise you!" And I meant it.

"You may have it," he said simply, standing up while fervently trying to regain his composure. My eyes grew wide at his offer of freedom, but I did not trust him. Before I had time to reply he opened his mouth and let Desdemona's love song flow through him. At first, I blushed, remembering how I had sung it during our lessons together. But soon it calmed me, and I closed my eyes to hear his angelic voice. Perhaps, in some way, he was an angel.

In a mere moment, I knew no more.


	3. Music from the opera

I stirred softly, but did not open my eyes. Wrapping the warm coverings around myself, I groaned, knowing that if I did not wake up soon I would be late for rehearsals. The last thing I wanted was for the ballet mistress to chide me for my lazy nature. I stretched, preparing to sit up, when I noticed that the bed I was currently in was far larger than the one stuffed into the corner of my apartment. Confusion hit me first, and then a wave of terror and nausea as I finally opened my eyes.

I was in moderately sized room, in a quaint mahogany bed. The only light came from a small lamp on top of an old Louis-Philippe chest, and I shuddered in the darkness. The night before came back to me in a blur of flashes—my abduction, the underground palace, the man with death hands who claimed to love me.

I grabbed onto the bed frame with shaky hands, and slowly let my feet collide with cold stone floor. Glancing to the left, I saw a door, and followed it through. I half expected to see my captor waiting for me, or a slew of other girls in my situation. Upon seeing the clean, abundantly stocked bathroom, I breathed out in sheer relief.

Coming back into my room, I glanced at the light, and noticed for the first time a letter in sharp red ink.

_My dear Christine, _it read, _there is no need for you to worry about your fate. You have no better or more respectful friend in the world than I. For the time being you are alone in this house, which belongs to you. I have gone out to do some shopping and will bring back all the linen and other personal effects that you may need. _

I bit into my knuckles, trying to fight back the tears in my eyes. How long was I going to be kept down there? I ran to an unadorned side of the wall, dropping the note in my steps. Finding no door, I screamed for help, twirling frantically in search for a way out. No door appeared, and no one heard my cries.

I bitterly sunk to the floor, my body wracking with sobs. I deserve this, I thought. "Young, innocent Christine, so quick any willing to believe in a voice behind your dressing room mirror," I spat, "the voice of an _angel._"

I didn't know what to do—I wanted to hit myself, I wanted to laugh, to cry! It was then that I heard a knock at my door. He had come back.

Two more taps, and he came in, leaving the door ajar. He looked like any other man at that moment, with bundles and packages under his arms. He set them down slowly, sighing over my shrieking form.

"Let me leave!" I demanded. "You cannot keep me here forever! I-I trusted you!" His stern face seemed to lighten slightly, but I continued. "You claim to be a honorable man, and yet you hide your face from me. Surely someone so respectable as you can have nothing to hide!" He shook his head, but answered calmly.

"You will never see my face." When I did not speak again, he glanced at me fully. "My dear, it is near two o'clock in the afternoon. Why have you not washed yourself?" My mouth open and shut, and my eyes narrowed. How _dare_ he rebuke me! _Me,_ the girl he _kidnapped!_

"I'll give you half of an hour, and then we will go into the dining room. I have an excellent lunch waiting for us." My stomach grumbled unconsciously, and I slammed the door after him. Stomping back into the bathroom, I grabbed a pair of scissors I had discovered in the cupboard, and eyed them warily. I decided only to kill myself if he stopped behaving so gentlemanly.

The bath was comforting, to say the least. There were so many soaps piled along the shelves that I could hardly decide which one to choose. I settled for a scented white bar, because I was unused to all of the lavish oils. The cool water helped to clear my thoughts, letting me gain some sense. As I pondered I decided that if I was ever going to get out of this mad estate alive, I had to play a part.

I had to make him believe I liked him.

* * *

I breathed in calmly as I stood in front of her door. I could hardly contain a smile at the thought of seeing her again. Against her will or not, she was here with me, and I had never felt warmer, or more alive.

I knocked three times before she came out, and my heart caught in my throat. She was wearing the light pink custom dress I had bought for her. It swayed lightly beneath her as she walked towards me. Her hair was down, and she let her dark ringlets fall down her shoulders. She stared up at me with large, shy eyes.

"The dining room is this way," I managed. She followed, and I found myself pleasantly surprised that she was not attempting to run, scream, or threaten me. I pulled out her chair, and we sat down to eat the rather large lunch I had prepared.

We did not speak for a few moments, and Christine could only stare at the food. Did she really still believe I would harm her?

"Christine," I began, "Let me reassure you that I would never, _never_ harm you. Please, eat." This seemed to calm her worries, because she started to hesitantly pick at the dishes.

"I should tell you what my plans are," I said, trying to sooth not only her, but also myself. When all was said we would both feel lighter. "You—Your presence, Christine…Well, I enjoy it very much; too much to deprive myself of it immediately." She glanced up from her plate.

"I love you," I told her. Oh, how I loved saying it! But thinking she would not enjoy hearing it, I continued: "But I will only tell you so when you'll allow me." She remained silent.

"The rest of your time here can be spent on music, if you wish it." This got her attention.

"What do you mean by 'the rest of my time here?'" she asked.

"Five days," I answered firmly.

"And after that, I'll be free?"

"Yes, Christine. You'll be _free_, because at the end of those five days you'll have learned to trust me. You'll come back to see poor Erik now and then." Her eyes narrowed sympathetically, and she searched my face with a strange compassion I was unused to.

"Erik…" she mused, and I felt my heart leap unconsciously at the sound of my name on her lips. "Is that Scandinavian?"

"I have no country," I answered, "The name Erik is mine by chance." She nodded. It was a moment before she spoke what I knew was truly on her mind.

"Was there no other way of letting me know you love me other than imprisoning me underground? It is hard to make yourself loved in a grave." At first I felt bitter, but it passed. After all, how could she know of my life, the reason I isolated myself from the world?

"One takes whatever rendezvous on can get," I answered, half avoiding her gaze. I stood up, and held out my hand to her.

"Come, I want to show you my apartment." At first she held out her hand as well, but the moment I touched it she shrank away with a cry that made me weep beneath the mask. I had forgotten, for a moment, how truly revolting I was.

"Oh, forgive me!" I moaned. I would not touch her again, for she did not deserve such a horror. I led her into a familiar room.

"This is my bedroom," I told her. "It's rather curios…would you care to see it?" She answered by following me inside. I watched as her gaze as it lingered on the Dies Irae staffs, and finally shifted to my coffin. She took a step back, as I knew she would.

"I sleep in it," I replied to her silence. "We should get used to everything in life, even eternity." Clearly, she did not share my philosophy.

Christine seemed more than happy to turn her attention to my organ, and the mounting pieces of paper scattered over it. She asked permission to look over Don Juan.

"Yes, I compose sometimes. I began that work twenty years ago. When it's finished, I'll take it with me into that coffin, and I won't wake up." She looked at me with convincing sincerity and seriousness.

"You should work on it as seldom as possible, then."

"I sometimes work on it for two weeks at a time, day and night, and during that time I live only on music. Then I rest for several years."

"Will you play me something from you Don Juan Triumphant?" she asked. I could have easily laughed then, but restrained myself. Perhaps she thought it would please me, but no… I would never play that for her.

"Don't ever ask me that," I replied grimly. "That Don Juan wasn't written to the words of Mozart's Lorenzo Da Ponte, inspired by wine, love affairs, and vice, and finally punished by God. I'll play Mozart for you, Christine. I'll play you anything you wish, save this. My Don Juan burns, and yet he is not struck down by the fires of heaven!" Perhaps she was confused, or bitter. I couldn't tell, and I didn't really care. She had been the one to ask.

We went back into the drawing, and I sat down on the piano. "You see, Christine," I told her, trying to eradicate some of the harshness of my earlier statement, "some music is so formidable that it consumes everyone who approaches it. But you haven't come to that kind of music—luckily, because you would lose your fresh colors and no one would recognize you when you went back to Paris. Let's sing music from the Opera, Christine Daae."

If she took that last remark as an insult, I was sorry for her innocence.

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Well, get ready for the super long author's note I didn't post at the beginning. First of all, thank you so much to all my reviewers! I've never gotten such long or in depth reviews, so I really, _really_ appreciated them.

Neo-lover72 – Thank goodness for on line French translators! ;) Thanks for the review!

Miranda7911 – Oops, sorry for the mishap on the first chapter. I don't think she was sitting down at all, lol. Erik gave her a tranquilizer? That made me giggle for some reason, but I wish I had known that before, it would have made my job a lot easier. ;) Thanks for the insight! Oh, and about the half mask, I'll address that at the end, so keep scrolling, lol. Again, your review really made my week, so thank you so much for all of the positive criticism and compliments. If I messed up on this chapter too, or if you just didn't like it, Please please tell me! Thanks so much!

Reading Redhead – Creepy? Darnit. I'll try to go back and fix that. Yes, all the new movie fiction has been getting to me, too. That's why I started this story is the first place, lol. Awwww, thanks so much for the compliments! Again, I really love your input, so tell me what you thought of this chapter, too! I know it's still slow, but it's going to be long, and as soon as she takes off his mask (next chap), there will be a lot more E/C and original goodness not found in the book. ;) Weeeeee!

Wendela – Thanks! Yeah, a lot of the dialogue (Well, most of it, to tell you the truth) is based off or directly copied from the Apollo's Lyre scene. That will change soon, though. And yeah, here's the explanation for the mask.

MASK: Okay, when I started writing this I knew Erik had a full black mask, but I always liked the white half mask better, so I thought, 'hey, what's the harm?' Big, big mistake. It wasn't until I really started to re-read Erik's part in the novel that I realized how vital his full mask is. So please, please try to forget it was a half mask in the beginning, because from now on it is a full black mask. Sorry, I hope this isn't confusing! Thanks for bearing with me!


	4. The Unmasking

Disclaimer: I do not own PotO or Othello. There ya go.

I followed Erik out of his bedroom, more than happy to be led away from the dreary darkness. I had been utterly terrified to see he kept a coffin, and even more so when I found out he _slept _in it! What kind of life had this man had, to make him want to sleep where only the dead ventured?

Once out in the drawing room, he sat at the piano, and explained to me the nature of the music he wrote. I felt insulted at hearing that I could not handle to listen to his Don Juan—that I was far too innocent. And then he insisted we sing music form the opera with a strange, almost offending tone. Once again he played the duet from Othello, and I shuddered at his seductive voice, so full of love of longing.

_Now in the dark night every noise is silenced, _

_my beating heart is lulled in this embrace and stilled. _

_Let war thunder and the world be engulfed _

_if after infinite wrath comes this infinite love!_

I felt that if I did not sing with him then, I would surely die. I sung out Desdemona's part with a thrilling and terrifying sincerity I had never before achieved.

_My proud warrior! How much suffering, _

_how many sad sighs and how much hope _

_have led us to these sweet embraces. _

_Oh! How sweet it is to murmur together: _

_do you remember? _

_When you told of your life of exile, _

_of its daring deeds and long drawn pain, _

_and I listened, my soul ravished _

_by those terrors, and ecstasy in my heart._

In that moment, Erik was Othello himself, and I was his beloved. We sung out the last lines, both knowing this illusion was coming to a close.

_And you loved me…_

_And I love you…_

And I looked at him, to the face covered in darkness, and I wanted—no, I needed—to see the man behind the mask. In a swift, unthinking motion, I pulled away his disguise, letting it fall to the floor with a sickening thud.

The cry that came from him was like nothing I had ever heard. It was superhuman, the absolute epitome of anguish. My eyes opened wide in shock, as did my mouth, and I stood there like a statue, unable to comprehend the sight before me.

It was the face of a skeleton, or a corpse laid to rest long ago. And yet here it was, writhing before me in pain and anger. He had no eyes, only black sockets, and a gaping hole where any normal man's nose would have been. His lips were thin and twisted, and his flesh was bony, and unhealthily pale—nearly yellow. He was the most hideous and horrifying thing I had ever seen.

I sunk soundlessly to my knees, shaking while he cursed at me, and spat incoherent ravings. As though to wake me he leaned down to my ear and shouted:

"You wanted to see, Christine, now look!" I could not bring myself to do as he commanded. I couldn't… "Feast your eyes, and sate your soul with my cursed ugliness! It wasn't enough to hear your angel, you had to see his face! You're so curious, Christine! So damn curious!" He laughed, a bellowing, mad laugh that struck me harder than if he had hit me. I tried to crawl away, but he grabbed my hair with a brutal force and turned me to face him.

"Are you afraid of me, Christine? Do you think I still wear a mask? Come, then, let us pull it off together!" I tried to fling away from him, to roll onto the floor, but he grabbed my hands, and he put my fingernails up to his ghastly death flesh. I gave a gasp as he lacerated his own flesh with my hands, and I sobbed violently as his blood spilled onto me.

"I'm made entirely of death, Christine! It is a corpse that loves you, adores you, and will never leave you, _never_! I'm going to have the coffin enlarged, for when we've come to the end of our love!" He faltered for a moment, his face glossed with tears. "Look: I'm not laughing now, I'm crying, for you…You've pulled off my mask and now you can never leave. You could come back when you thought I was handsome. You would have come back…I know you would have…But now you'd run away forever. I'm keeping you!" He shuddered, and fell to the floor, bring me down with him.

"Why, Christine…? My father never saw me, and my mother gave me my first mask so she wouldn't have to look at me!" He let go of me, and slithered out of the room. I was left alone.

I sat for several moments in silence, soaking in my thoughts and the consequences of my actions. What have I done? I thought. He had told me what to expect, he had warned me! Refusing to think of the monster's face, I cursed my own rashness, and realized that he had been right. I would have come back if I had never seen his face. I was already connected to him in a stronger way than I could explain, and I knew I would have returned. But now…

I thought of the scene we had shared, and realized that after all the pain I had caused him, he had not hurt me. He could have stricken me, killed me without any resistance on my part, but he did not dare. Perhaps he was an angel, to control himself like that. I felt a surge of guilt and pity.

I barely had enough strength to carry myself into my room, where I sank down on the bathroom floor, holding the scissors against my left wrist. But I could not do it; I was too cowardly to even save myself. No sooner had I rested my head back against the cool stone then I heard the thunderous boom of Erik's organ.

I understood then what Erik had meant by referring 'to music of the opera' so contemptuously. I knew in an instant that it was his Don Juan Triumphant, which he had immersed himself in to forget the horror of the moment. At first it was a long, terrible sob in which he poured all his frustration and anguish.

I cried silently as I listened. Poor Erik! I saw images of his lonesome form banging his cursed ugliness on the cold stone, hiding away so as not to scare others, and weeping under the remnants of a smashed mirror. I stood up shakily, suddenly ablaze with compassion. In a drunken state I followed through the doors that separated us.

Erik stood up when he heard me, but did not dare turn around. Over and over my mind ran the question of why. Why had I unmasked him, given him more pain to add to his already excruciating life? I had to set things right—I had to still my fear and look him in the face.

"Erik," I told him, "Show me your face without fear. I swear you're the most heart rendering and sublime man in the world, and if I ever quiver again when I look at you, it will be because I am thinking about the splendor of your genius!"

All the faith I had in myself melted away when he turned around. He fell to his knees, weeping and shaking as he crawled towards me. From his death mouth sprang words of love and adoration, words that, had they not been coming from him, would have been the sweetest sounds ever to fall on my ears. He bent down and kissed the hem of my dress as though I were something pure enough to be worshipped.

But I was not, for I had closed my eyes.

-

A/N: Well, here's a short chapter, just because I felt like writing it, lol. Also, I KNOW that Erik was described as 'lipless' in the novel, but I needed to give the man some kind of lips! So I did. ;) Anyway, big thanks to:

Reading Redhead—Oops, sorry about the breaking, I do it on Microsoft word, but I forget to put in back in when I get to ffnet. Thanks so much for the review!

Pickledishkiller—lol, yes, she is very innocent. Erik's in denial or something. ;) Thanks for reviewing!


	5. The morning after

I would not, _could _not move. I cowered, trembled before the angel that lay sleeping under my gaze. She was the most beautiful creature, her gentle curls falling lightly over her porcelain face. My eyes traveled to her closed lids, hiding the eyes that had dared to look at me—_me! _And she was not afraid!

I was terrified. In all my years of longing, I had never wanted anything so bad as Christine. The world could reject me, loathe me, as long as I had her. These last few hours had stirred in me emotions I had not thought to feel with my beloved near me—despair, anger, shock, and finally a disgusting hope and peace. And so I sat foolishly at her bedside, unable to tear myself away.

Yet, in all my ecstasy, my bitter attitude would not let me fully trust in this angel. What if she woke with the dawn, and could not bear to look at me? It would be a worse pain than all my beatings as a child, all my embarrassments, to have to see that absolute terror once more on her face; I still shook to think of it.

Choking back a sob, I tremulously stretched my hand forward, letting it brush bravely against her own. She did not stir. I crept closer, stoking her soft flesh, letting fresh tears spill onto my cursed ugliness. Oh, she was real, and alive!

I glanced hungrily at her before stumbling back, afraid of my own emotions. For her sake, I stood to leave, feeling a great, panging emptiness.

"I love you," I whispered. "I love you, Christine." How I loved to tell her!

I sat in the drawing room, trying to still my thoughts and heart, but I could not do even that, let alone rest. My mind ran over her face, her voice, the words she had said to me:

_If I ever quiver again, it will be because I am thinking of the splendor of your genius!_

I would prove myself to her; not worthy, for that I could never be, but I would assure her of my love and devotion. I would be her slave, deny her nothing, build alters that I might worship her!

The ever-looming morning weighed on me, however, and I sat, staring into the dying embers of the fire. When the sun rose, she would look at me once more, and I would await my fate at the hands of the executioner, my angel.

_My _Christine.

* * *

I wrestled with the knowledge that I had to get up, and the fear of doing so. I tried to keep my eyes shut, to drift back into a world without Erik, but it was impossible. All I could think about was the night before, and grimaced to see his face. Since failure to escape through sleep was inevitable, I slowly opened my eyes, stretched, and pulled back to covers. Perhaps a hot bath was all I needed.

But the warm water did nothing to ease my mind. Over and over I saw Erik's cries of anguish, sobs of relief, felt him kissing the hem of my dress, and heard his proclamation of love. What was I to do? What on earth could I say to him after an encounter like that? Surely 'good morning' would not suffice.

And what if he was not wearing his mask? _Of course he won't be_, I scolded myself. After all, I had given him reason to believe his deformity would not frighten me. But as I thought on it, I felt less and less prepared to face him.

No, I thought resolutely, I will not hurt him. I braced myself to the best of my ability, and stepped out of the water. When I opened my closet, I found it still stacked with dresses far too regal for my modesty. Despite myself, I chose I dark blue gown reminiscent of my eyes, and slipped it on. Standing before the mirror, I was rather happy with my reflection. My blonde curls hung toweled dried over my shoulders, and my eyes seemed to glow when contrasted with the dress.

Oddly enough, I wanted to see Erik's reaction, not knowing how he waited for mine.

Deciding to exit my room was a whole new issue. Every time I touched the handle, my hand recoiled as though I had been burnt. I steadied myself, taking in a long breath, as I stood on the threshold of an unrealized destiny.

I opened the door, and my heart beat wildly. But where was Erik? My eyes scanned the room, stopping dead in the shadows. He stood unflinching, hidden in darkness, and seemingly unwilling to come any closer. He is only a man, I reminded myself, and his is only a face.

"Erik?" I asked, trying desperately to steady my voice. He came towards me, little by little. I can't, I thought frantically, I can't look at him! As the light hit his form, I cast my eyes down, not even willing to give him a chance. I berated myself. I was a stupid, selfish girl!

"Good morning, Christine," he said warily. It took every ounce of strength in me to turn my head to towards him. My eyes traveled from his shoes to his rich black evening attire, and stopped at his neck. No longer able to fight, I faced him.

I did nothing but gaze levelly at his misshapen features. Instead of fear, I felt an overwhelming surge of pity for the poor man standing in front of me, helpless to my judgment. Yes, he still invoked in me a strange horror, but it felt somewhat minimized now. I broke the silence.

"Good morning, Erik." He loosened his shoulders, breathing out in unmistakable relief.

"Are you ready to eat?" he asked. I nodded, and he came to stand by me, directing me into the dining room. As we stood closer, I realized he was silently crying.

* * *

"I do not mean to be rude," started Christine, and I glanced at her questioningly. Her eyes were still glued to her plate as she picked apart her breakfast. "But…do you know how the ballet girls talk of the Opera Ghost?" I nodded, amused. "Are you…?"

"Him?" I finished for her. She nodded, somewhat uneasily.

"Yes, I _haunt_ the opera house," my voice dripped with sarcasm. "I reserve box five for every opening, and I earn a monthly salary from the incompetent managers." She did not turn to see my ironic smile.

"And do you enjoy this job?"

"Well, I will not deny that I have found it amusing at times. Although, half the things those skittish ballet girls screech about are not my doings. They play obnoxious jokes on one another and give me all the credit."

"I had thought as much. About the girls, I mean. They're always coming up to each other, going as far as to claim the opera ghost has stolen their stockings and garters. Or _was _that you?" She smiled, her eyes darting to my side.

I laughed, a deep, real laugh, and she joined me in a light chuckle. "No, I am quite sure I have been confused with one of their suitors."

"Was I ever the victim of one of your jokes?" she asked lightheartedly. I tensed.

"Never, Christine." She knew as well as I the subject had shifted.

"When you were tutoring me," she began cautiously, "I know you were standing behind the mirror, but it seemed at times as though you were in my dressing room, above me, all sorts of places! How did you…do that?" I breathed out in a sigh of utmost relief. All she wanted to know about was ventriloquism.

"Have you ever heard of ventriloquism, my dear? It is something I picked up in Persia. It allows me to throw my voice here"—across the room—"here"—hovering over the table—"or _here_"—my voice nibbled on her ear.

"Goodness!" she cried, giving me a startled glance. "How do you make your voice shift like that?"

"It takes practice," I told her. "Perhaps one day I'll show you."

"Perhaps," she echoed. We ate the remainder of the meal in silence.

* * *

Well, here another long list of replies. ;) I'm really freaked out about this chap because it's kind of me branching out, so your criticisms and feedback are really appreciated! Thank you so much for your reviews!

Pickledishkiller—lol, sorry, but I'm sure you did fine. Yes, Christine's point of is annoying, isn't it? ;) Thank you!

Reading Redhead—Aww, thanks! Your review really helped me a lot during this chapter!

Chantel—Yes, the lines ARE close, aren't they? I said they would be. As of this chapter, however, the lines are copyright me. So, yeah…thanks for the review!

Wendela—Too late, I'm already blushing. Thank you so so much! Apparently Erik does have lips, as I've learned a little too late. Oh well, lol. I'd really love to read any fic you'd recommend! What is the link?

Countess Alana—Who wouldn't marry Erik? Lol.

Menacerphan—I haven't decided whether or not this will be an alternative ending. I mean, I really don't want Christine to really fall in love with him or at least not realize it over the course of two weeks. That's a little soon. So I was thinking of extending it, but I'm not sure. We'll see; maybe I'll have a breakthrough.

Miranda7911—I love your long reviews, just to let you know. I went back and read the Daroga's account of the Louis-Phillipe room after reading your feedback, and you're absolutely right. I've been going solely off the Apollo's Lyre scene, so my description of her room was pretty dull. Also, about Christine threatening to kill herself, that was pretty OOC. I get carried away, lol. I really need to go back and fix the breaking on that last chap as well, sorry. Thank you so much!

Yes, those are the lyrics to Othello, at least as far as I know. You can never trust google completely. I don't know the story of Othella, just that it is mentioned quite a bit in PotO. I've always liked Leroux's description best, too. Nose-less men are sexy! ;) Again, this story will most likely be a day by day account of the two weeks they spent together, and from this chapter on most dialogue should be original. Thanks so much!

BlazeoftheInferno—Thank you! You're absolutely right about the pity thing; I was pretty mad at myself over that. I wish ff would let me go back and fix it, but I haven't figured out how. ( And about the lipless thing, yeah…he has lips. My bad, lol.

Ludivine—Aw, thank you! Darn Walmart…you should go to Barnes and Noble. )


	6. What it is to burn

For the rest of the day third day, Erik and I exhausted ourselves on music. The perfectionist behavior I had known him to have as my angel was as strong as ever, and more than once I had to sigh as he criticized the lack of soul in my song. It wasn't that I didn't wish to please him, but he must have known how exhausted I was! These past days would have been trying for anyone.

"I think that is enough for today, my dear," he said gently, noting most likely for the first time how late it had gotten. "I can see you're weary; we can try again tomorrow." I nodded gratefully, swooning slightly as I stood.

We were apart more than an arm's length, but I could feel his eyes burning into me. Not for the first time that day, Erik was wordlessly willing me to look at him, to prove that I had not lied. And perhaps I had lied, however unintentionally, but I could still correct myself. Maybe one day I would be able to gaze upon him without fear or disgust.

Nevertheless, I turned my head up to face him, and found the black sockets that served as his eyes. I realized I must have been getting used to him, for I did not feel the immediate need to tear my gaze away. He seemed to notice this as well, because his mouth parted slightly, as though in awe. Still keeping my eyes level with his, I whispered:

"Goodnight, Erik," and swept passed him. From behind me I heard a soft:

"Goodnight, my angel." My face felt unusually warm, but I dismissed it. I couldn't possibly be blushing.

Once I was safely in my room, I undid my corset, and snuggled into my covers. Even though my eyes closed, I could not drift into the relief of blessed sleep. My thoughts rolled back and forth between my life below and above the Paris Opera House. I thought of Raoul, and felt sick at the notion that he may be worried. After all, I had left no note, no sign of reassurance. _What a horrible friend I have been!_

And then there was Erik—poor, unhappy Erik. How long would I be made to stay with him? Surely his claim of five days no longer applied, as a reprimand for my irrational behavior. But I could not stay here forever! I had…well, Raoul, and Mama Valerius, and my work! I sighed, knowing my mind was only becoming more tangled, and my stomach lurched with stress.

After some time, I fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

I could still hear my heart pounding in my chest as I sat hunched over my organ. Oh, she had looked me square in the eye, and had spoken to me without fear of my face! What merciful god, if there be any, had delivered this angel into my hands? I, who was undeserving of all kindness!

My mind frantically went over a thousand ways in which I hoped to repay her goodness. But what could I offer her that she would accept gratefully? She was such a humble, honorable girl, that certainly all the lavish items in the world would only make her uncomfortable. A nagging, unwanted thought crept into my mind:

_Her freedom._

I growled. Of all the things I could give her, the only one she wanted was the one to hurt me most! Could she not be happy here with me, if given time? No, I reasoned, of course not. She is a daughter of light, and I am a demon. She would desire the sun too badly before long.

I buried my cursed face in my death hands, wracking my brain. _Oh Christine_, I sighed, _you are the sweetest form of innocence, and I will corrupt your eyes no more. _

I stalked into my room, intent on retrieving my mask.

* * *

I woke the next morning with a frustrated sigh, and buried my head in my pillow. I was too emotionally exhausted to work on music, and too confused to face Erik. But I could not go back to sleep, and as the minutes ticked by I eventually sat up. After all, I could not stay in bed forever, and the last thing I wanted was Erik to come check on me.

I bathed in water and steam until my fingers pruned, towel dried my curls, and took the maximum amount of time lacing up my dress. I'm sure it was nearly early afternoon by the time I opened the door. Erik was standing, as expected, in the shadows to my left. I prepared myself to look at his face, and my eyes trailed up him as he came into the light.

"Good morning, Christine," he said solemnly. I glanced up, about to return the greeting, when I saw not his ugliness, but his mask! Instead of relief, I felt confusion and sadness. Why did he still hide from me?

"Good morning," I replied slowly, cautiously. "Erik…why have you put your mask back on?" I saw him stiffen, as though he hadn't expected me to say anything. Then he smiled sadly.

"I have plagued your eyes long enough, my angel. You have given me the sweetest feeling I have never known—that you could look at me without fear, if only for a moment. I will ask no more of you."

I mouth parted slightly, but no words would come. Poor Erik! I had done this to him, because I had lied, because I could not look at him long enough. I inwardly berated my foolish behavior. Had this man not had enough cruelty thrust upon him, that I had to be the salt in his open wound? I did not _want _to hurt him!

"Erik…no…" I heard myself whisper.

"Let us go to breakfast, Christine," he said, his voice edged with force.

I did not move. No, I would not let him continue this charade, not when I knew what lay behind the mask. I could be brave. I could…

He stopped when he realized I would not walk beside him.

"Come," he said, then, "Christine?"

I stalked up to him, and forced myself to remain calm as I stared into his eyes, now a visible yellow in the darkness. He stared back with confusion, almost fright, and his body tensed.

"Erik, I told you I would never again look upon your face with fear, and although I didn't mean to, I lied. I'm sorry, but I am still getting used to you, and to all this!"—I gestured to our surroundings—"In time, I know I can overcome whatever hideousness I see in your face, because your soul is good. But please, Erik, I cannot do it with this in the way." I laid my hand on his mask, softly stroking the dark porcelain. Tears flowed down the mask and onto the back of my hand. Yet, he did not move, nor could I feel him breathe.

When his reaction did not come, I stretched my other hand up, and gently undid his mask. He sobbed my name, and his arms went out as though to prevent me, but I held his disguise firmly in my hand. Walking out of the room, he followed me like a lost puppy.

"You will not wear this again," I told him, and his eyes jumped from me to the fireplace, then grew wide in fear. He walked toward my straight, bold form, but I did not give him time before I let go of his mask, letting it fall among the ashes and flames. Erik fell to his knees, sobbing pitifully. Tears ran down my own face, partly from relief, and pride at the sense of maturity I felt.

With his death hands, Erik grasped the end of dress, burying his face in the soft material. My heart filled over with pity and another emotion I could not place, or would not.

"I love you," he whispered softly, his body wracking as he withheld sobs.

My lips parted, but I stopped myself. What on earth had I been about to say? That I _loved_ him as well? I scoffed, but sadly. I only wanted him to stop hurting.

"Erik," I said gently, kneeling down in front of him so that we were nearly level. "Will you sing for me?" He stared up at me, his sockets wide and frantic.

"I will deny you _nothing._" He got up with a grace I had not thought possibly after his previous display, and tried in vain to shake the tears from his eyes. Getting to my feet as well, I went to stand by the organ, wondering just how things would change from now on.

* * *

Before you criticize this chapter too badly, just let me say that I didn't mean for it to turn out so…I dunno, fluffy, maybe? The characterization was probably off too, but I AM trying. So please, all you comments are really helpful! Thanks a bunch! Oh, and sorry again for the late update, I'm normally not this slow, but it's been a trying year school-wise.

Reading Redhead—Aw, shucks! Thanks! ;) I glad you liked the title, too.

Clever Lass—Thank you! And hey, who said Leroux Erik is the least sexy one? I'll make out with him any day. Lol.

Wendela—Thanks so much! Oh, and the story…well, I DID look it up, but it's E/OW. **–**dies- I can't betray my E/C enthusiast soul. But it did look good besides all that. Hehe.

BlazeoftheInferno—That's it, you get a hug! –hugs-

Hereswith—Thank you!

Rowin—Thanks!

Countess Alana—LOL! Yes, please, stop before you get me started, too. Hehe.


	7. The First Step to Freedom

Love is a cruel thing; one that plays hideous tricks on the mind. Even as I sat late into the night in front of the fire, gazing at the dying embers and charred velvet, I could not help the false visions that entered my head, nor the pitifully loud thuds of my heart. Over and over I saw Christine dressed in a white to fit her purity, coming to greet me at the entrance to our home. She was the epitome of perfection, and she was _mine_! My living bride! We had a beautiful home, tall and white and secluded, filled with as many lights as Christine wished, with a rose garden, and a piano that we could sing at whenever we wanted! Oh, and on Sundays I would take her to the park, and arm in arm we would stroll in the presence of humanity, as any other couple!

I shivered in the darkness. Was she truly to be my salvation? Compensation for the life I had known only to be a hell? Sighing, I decided I would have to wait, for the decision was hers. I knew, though, that I would not let her go until she had made her choice.

And if that choice did not lean in my favor…Well, regardless, she would never leave me again.

* * *

"Erik?" I asked, trying in vain to conceal my apprehension.

"What is it, my dear?"

"I…Do-do you think I could go out, and…get some fresh air?" I saw him tense, and quickly cast my eyes down.

"I promise not to wander off. You-you could take me. Just for a little while, Erik. _Please_." The moments after my plea were spent in silence.

"You will not try to run?" Erik asked icily, and I shivered at the change in his tone.

"No, Erik, I will not run." He leaned over the table, willing me to meet his gaze.

"Or scream?"

"Or scream," I confirmed, then, "_Please_."

"Very well, Christine," he sighed, "I can take on a ride across the lake. Would that please you?" I nodded, and he stood up, walking around to the back of my chair. "Come."

I stood up also, only too happy to oblige. Finally, I would be getting out of this blasted house, if only for a moment. I found that the days of this confinement were beginning to wear on me, and I longed for any change of scenery. At the door I assumed led out, Erik paused, his gaze shifting nervously from me to the plastered frame. His eyes found mine, and he let a long, almost angry sigh. It was only until a saw him tug on a string far above my height that I realized the door had no handle.

Once outside I breathed in deeply, then eyed my surroundings. It looked far different from my first trip down here, but at that time I was only vaguely paying attention. I was startled, though not at all surprised, to see my vision clouded by the depths of darkness. The only sound came from the faint _thwop, thwop _of slowly lapping water. As usual, Erik blended with the shadows, but I didn't dare reach out for him.

"Do you still wish to continue, my dear?" he asked, and though the voice came from my right side, I couldn't be sure that was where he was.

"Y-yes," I replied unsteadily. I could hear him chuckle lightly in the darkness.

"Then come." Barely a second passed before I could _feel_ him near me, and I knew he held out his arm in half-mock. My heart thudded so loudly that I became afraid he would hear. I cleared my mind quickly. I wouldn't actually be touching him. After all, two layers would be separating my hand from his death flesh. Slowly, shakily, I rested my hand on his arm, and I felt him shiver where I had touched him. Instead of drawing back, however, I only hovered my hand.

He led me carefully into the confines of the gondola, where I sat down clumsily and tried to spread my skirt around me. I found myself jealously eyeing his innate grace as he guided the boat with his ore. After some minutes, I asked:

"You see very well in the dark, don't you?" I turned my head up, and then snapped it back down, suddenly afraid of his piercing golden eyes.

"Yes, but I have lived in the dark a long time. You too will learn to adjust your eyes to the darkness." Even as he spoke I could see shapes starting to form—the outline of the river and the last stone level.

"How long have you been—er—down here?"

"Long enough," he sighed. I knew he would say no more on the subject, so I simply nodded.

"Are you cold?" he asked suddenly, and too quickly I replied with, "No!" Then, more gently, I said, "No…no, thank you." Had I simply been afraid he would have insisted I wear his coat?

I figured we had reached the end, or he would go no further, because he made a soft turn and he rowed back towards the house. The rest of the journey was spent in silence.

Once we were back inside, Erik hung his coat, and I sprawled my dress over the couch as I sat down. "Thank you, Erik," I said, and he nodded in response.

"When you are ready, my Marguerite," he began, "We can begin the second act of Faust."

"Of course," I said, pushing myself to my feet, and followed him to the organ.

* * *

Panic was the best way to describe my reaction to Christine's request. All hope shattered, leaving me angry and helpless. Just hours before she had confessed wanting to know me, and now the first thing on her mind was leaving! And I—I had been foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe—! I growled inwardly. So, she wanted _fresh air_, did she? No doubt she'd take one breath, alert the whole opera with that lovely voice of hers, and attempt to run back to her precious vicomte. But no, she had promised not to; just as she had promised not to fear my face.

Sighing with rage and fear, I led her to the door, stalling in agony while she held her breath, and finally opening it in defeat. Should she attempt anything, I thought, I would simply have to drag her back.

She stepped out, obviously alarmed at the darkness. I drew back in the shadows, watching her reaction. She looked lost and scared, and for a moment all my anger dissipated into concern.

"Do you still wish to continue, my dear?" I asked, lifting my voice to her side.

"Y-yes," she replied hesitantly. I chuckled lightly at her newest attempt at bravery.

"Then come," I told her, extending my arm for her to take. As expected, she only glanced at it nervously, and I stretched it daringly closer. Still, she stalled, and just as I expected her to flinch away, or to run back inside, she laid her hand on the arm of my suit. I shivered in delight, causing her to lift her palm so that it now hovered.

We glided across the river, and I could not help imagining myself under the shade of a tree, while Christine lay out against a grassy hill, with blue sky above our heads, and a smile gracing my beloved's lips. We talked, perhaps not of normal things, but the words were natural. And then we returned home, to music and candlelight.

I could not help thinking that maybe all she had wanted was fresh air, after all.

* * *

Yeah, I know, I practically fell asleep writing it. I think this is my least favorite chapter so far, but I had to put it in to make way for the next ones. I've been rethinking this and I decided to extend this story so that it goes into detail past the two weeks. I'm not sure when it will stop, though. Anyway, I'm really really sorry about the long wait for the update, but I've been catching up on sleep, lol. Yay 4 easter break! Also, thank you guys so much for all your reviews, they mean a lot to me!

Clever-lass—Thank you so much! I'm sorry if the wait wasn't worth it this time, lol, but hopefully it will be for the next.

Reading Redhead—Don't you hate it when that happens? I always write long emails to my friends, click something unintentionally, and when I check back the whole thing's gone. Grrr. Anyway, (lol) isn't Wicked awesome! I get to see it in LA this summer, I'm sooooo excited. It's my first Broadway show! YAY! The only bad part is that I know my old mother is going to be singing popular for the whole drive. **–**shudders- I'm rambling now, sorry. Thanks for your review!

Wendela—Thank you! I know, poor Erik. We should go give him a hug, lol, and a big cup of coco. That'll make him feel better. As for Erik being a love-sick puppy, I always thought he was, what with his moaning and weeping and kissing Christine's dress and feet. I've always thought him to be the least proud/arrogant Erik out there, at least towards his angel.

Hereswith—Thank you! I'm glad no one seems too offended by Christine's sudden backbone.

Chat-Tastic—Thanks!

Miranda7911—I love you. You know that, right? Your take on Erik's personality and a possible change in the ending have really, _really_ put me at ease. Don't worry, though, any changes in the ending will seem natural (hopefully). Christine will not be killing Raoul and fleeing the country with Erik (or something to that extent). Lol. Also, I think your theory that Christine would possibly choose Erik, had she been older, is very accurate. It's kind of like that line in the book where Raoul asks: "If Erik were handsome, would you love me?" and she responds with: "Why ask me about things I keep hidden in the back of my mind like sins?" or something like that. Had she been mature enough to overlook his appearance, I think she would have chosen him. Too bad that didn't happen, but at least all of us E/C shippers have fan fiction to cling to. ;) Thank you soooooooo much for your review!


	8. Beneath Apollo's Lyre

A/N: CHAPTER 7 HAS BEEN RE-WRITTEN! If you want to understand this chap completely you should go back and read it. Um…yeah…

A/N 2: This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful beta, BlazeoftheInferno! –hugs- Thank you so much!

* * *

For the two days following our voyage, I began to know an entirely new point of exhaustion. For hours upon hours each day I was encased in music—his and mine. Where he had once been my Othello, he was now my Faust, and we were enthralled by one another's stories and proclamations of love. 

It had to have been nearly midnight by the time we stopped, and I was practically panting by the time we finished our final duet. I kept one hand gripped tightly on the back of the organ for support, while I wiped my brow with the other.

"I have worked you too hard," Erik said solemnly, "Forgive me." I did not feel up to replying. He stood and faced me.

"You have done exceptionally well," he said, and I flickered my gaze in his direction. "This part was made to be yours alone." I inwardly growled as my cheeks grew hot. Why did I have to be so affected by his praise, even when I knew he was not an angel?

"Christine—" he began, and I looked up, gaining back what little of my strength I had left. He faltered, and I caught his eyes with mine, for no matter how graceful this man was, his awkward moments were so few that they commanded my attention.

"I…want to show you something." I gave him a questioningly look. Now? I thought. Didn't he know what time it was? "Of course, if you are too tired…" he added, but I shook my head. I was rarely able to fall asleep nowadays, anyway.

"Come," he held out the ghastly death flesh of his hand, and my eyes widened. Oh, why had he not offered me his arm instead! Upon seeing my expression, his arm lowered, and he turned his back to me. I felt a twinge of guilt, but offered no apology. "Follow me," was his faint reply to my silence.

The boat ride was uncomfortable, to say the least. While the last journey had been almost friendly, the quiet that hung over us now was unnerving, and the air felt unusually cold. I scanned my mind for something, _anything _to say to him. After all, the gap between us had widened because of me.

"Where are we going?" I asked with a small and nervous voice.

"You shall see," was the only answer he gave. But when he turned around I completely forgot our conversation. Was he _smiling_? The shock of this made my heart sink slightly. Poor Erik, he smiled so rarely!

Unable to get onto the dock by myself, I clutched lightly to the sleeve of Erik's coat. For a moment I thought he would put his arm around my waist, but he refrained, and I was glad for it. I started to walk when he stepped in front of me, whistling loudly. It wasn't until I heard the trotting that I remembered Cesar, who parade proudly up to me. I brushed aside his white mane, calmly stroked his head, and smiled gently. I could feel Erik's golden eyes upon us, his brow furrowed with—was it jealousy?

I stopped, and walked around Cesar, intent on getting up on my own. I put my hand on his back, did a sort of half-jump, and came no where near being able to ride him. I blushed deeply, knowing Erik stood smirking in amusement. The next thing I saw were his hands clasped and the level of my knee as he bent over slightly. Puzzled at his gesture, I could only stare.

"Put your foot onto my hands. I'll push you up," he said. I looked wearily from his hands to his eyes before realizing I had no choice other than to trust in him. I did as told, and suppressed a gasp of surprise as I rose onto Cesar. I pushed my curls back and arrayed my dress as best I could. Erik stayed at my side, and followed the trotting horse on foot.

It didn't take long to get past the underground levels. When it was time to get down, I did not ask for Erik's help, and so he did not offer it. We winded up the last staircase and stopped just before what seemed like a portrait of my dressing room. But when I held out my hand it was met with cool glass. Glass of a….a mirror! I looked up at Erik, my mouth open, and could only visibly see him frown before he put up his dark hood. His hand grasped the side of the glass, and he stepped into my dressing room. Slowly, I followed, but not only into my dressing room. Erik succeeded in taking me up the levels of the Opera House as any worker would, although I was quite sure no one would be working at this hour. We walked quietly passed the rungs, and it was only until we had come to the end that I realized what Erik had wanted to show me.

He held the door open, and I gasped lightly as I filed out into the cold with him beside me. Out in the darkness a bronze Apollo held out his Lyre to the heavens, and I followed the statue's gaze. Tiny lights flickered in the sky, and a new and full moon illuminated the rooftop. I walked passed the small pool of water on my right, and stood watching Paris from the edge. Below, very few windows were lit by candlelight, adding to the calm and bright glow of the sky. I had been to this spot many times before, but never at night… I felt as though I had never even really seen Paris till then.

"This is beautiful," I managed. Taking it as an invitation, he walked forward to fill the foot or so between us. "Do you come here often?"

"Sometimes," he answered. Obviously more than he would admit, because his eyes never even took in the scene; their yellow glow remained on me.

"It reminds me of Sweden," I said suddenly, feeling a powerful sense of longing for the time spent with my father. "When I was young and we were very poor, we used to lay under the stars on piles of hay." I smiled fondly.

"You loved him very much," Erik said sympathetically.

"Yes," I said. "He was a wonderful man, and an amazing musician. Like you, I suppose." I turned to see Erik slightly arch one eyebrow. I blushed, realizing the depth of my words, and quickly covered with, "You both play very well." Erik nodded in acknowledgement.

I sighed and walked around to the clear but dark water of the pool, and sat down. Erik stood at my side, strangely unsure, but I lightly padded the surface next to me. He moved as graceful as ever, his cloak swishing around him. For a moment, both of us simply stared at the water.

"Christine…do you wish to leave me?" I glanced up at him, my eyes wide. What in the world would have made him ask that? Did…did he want me to answer honestly? Not wanting to hurt him, I murmured:

"I…I don't mind being here with you, Erik. You must understand, though, that I cannot stay here forever." He remained silent for a moment, and suddenly I was afraid. Would he be angry with me? Would he—would he cry?

"I will let you leave…but not yet. Not yet," his words echoed in my head. At least now I knew he intended to let me go at some point. I tried to manage a comforting smile.

"It is cold," he said solemnly. "We should be going." I caught his sleeve before he could sit up.

"I like it here," I said. "Let's stay for a little while longer."

* * *

A/N: I know, it took me forever to get this up, and I'm really sorry. I keep having to go back and re-read the book to make sure I'm getting everything right. I hope this chapter wasn't too bad, but I had to find something for them to do during the two weeks, lol. Anways, please review, I really appreciate you help! 

Now for my replies to your reviews:

Clever-Lass—Lol, not many of us like Leroux Christine or Christine in general for giving up Erik. Stupid, immature thing…I'm glad you like my Erik, though. Thank you!

Quiet2885—Hey, I didn't know you were reading this! ;) You get a cookie for dropping a line, lol. Thank you so much!

Reading Redhead—Yay, maybe we'll see eachother! I got tickets for the 2:00 on June 18th. I wanted to go at the late show, but noooo, my mom doesn't want to drive 5 hours to home at midnight. Oh well. Thanks!

BlazeoftheInferno—Hey! I hope I fixed all my mistakes…maybe…well, I tried, anyway. Lol. And yeah, poor Phillipe, he apparently died for nothing w/ the way I'm setting things up. ;) Again, thank you for all your help!

Miranda7911—Ack, seriously, I hope I just didn't spawn an idea for some poor, disturbed soul. Hehe. –claps for inaccuracies- YAY! Oh, and don't worry, I don't think I'll stop this fic till it's done. I'm addicted. Thank you!

Allegratree—Um, thanks for reviewing!

Caro—Hmmm…well, since I'm such an avid E/Cer, Erik may have a happy ending after all…-grins- Thanks!

Wendela—I hope this one was longer. I started to put Erik's thoughts into this one as well, but it turned out to be a disaster so I cut it. Sorry, and thanks!

Arazadia—Thanks so much! And yeah, I'm glad I'm extending it too. Writing takes the boredom out of my days.

Cmdr. Gabe E—Wow, thanks for all the reviews! You get a hug, too!

Ludivine—Yay, you got the book! Awww, you guys are going as Christine and Erik? That's so cute! Lucky! Send me pics! ;)


	9. Sweet Misery and Jealousy

When I awoke I found my closet to be re-stocked with glamorous garments, and my bathroom was nearly bursting from the abundance of lavish soaps and perfumes. I could only sigh over them, and wish I were still the young Swedish girl who lived happily in poverty.

Before coming out of my room I breathed in deeply, and was once again disappointed by the stuffy air—for it was the only air ever to emanate in this underground palace—and thought back to the night on the rooftop. I imagined I had never left, that I was still safe and free and close to home.

Most of the day was spent preparing for Faust. We practiced most heavily on Marguerite's final part, where in all her suffering she throws herself at the mercy of God. My emotion had surpassed my song, as was rare, but I felt this woman's despair writhing inside of me. She too had lost something very dear to her.

It was unusually early by the time we finished. At a loss for words, and not really wanting to go back to my prison cell, I asked:

"Can we go up to the roof again?" He stared at me for a moment before replying.

"I fear it is too light outside, my dear. Perhaps tomorrow." Disappointed, I said:

"Oh, yes, the workers must still be on their shifts." I paused before adding, "Or do you just not like the light?"

"Both," was his reply.

"How can you dislike light?" I asked, "Besides, you have candles all around."

"The candles are for your comfort, my dear. As for disliking the light, may I ask you why you dislike the dark?" I thought for a moment.

"Well, because…because it's frightening. You don't know what's there and what isn't." He smirked.

"Then we both have our reasons." I think he meant to end the conversation there, but I persisted.

"Yours being…?" He glanced at me.

"I do not enjoy being seen anymore than you enjoy seeing me," he spoke quietly, and I hung my head, ashamed at the truth of his words. "When I stay in the shadows, you can make believe I'm anyone you wish. Even a vicomte!" My head shot up rapidly.

"What—what do you mean?" I asked, suddenly afraid as he devoured my face with his fuming eyes. I glanced down and saw his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to remain in control. Would—would he strike me? And for what?

"You know very well what I mean! Do not pretend you don't think of him, Christine!" My heart was pounding in my chest. He was jealous! I coward slightly, taking a half step back.

"Erik, he—he is my friend."

"But not only! Certainly not for him!"

"Erik—please…" Tears pricked at my eyes. "I—I told you I would not see him. I'll keep my promise."

"And for how long? Hmm, my dear? How long until you tire of my company, and wish to let me go in return for his hand?" He was visibly crying now. "I _will not_ lose you," he whispered.

"You won't—Erik…" I ended lamely. But I thought, then, on his words. _Would _I leave him? Banishing the idea, I told myself no. I could never do that to him. "When you let me go," I told him, "I'll come back. I swear it." There was a still silence in the moments that followed, as though both of us held our breath.

"Then I will trust you," he nodded, shaking off tears in the process. "Forgive me."

We stood awkwardly then, facing one another, and I could not bring myself to catch Erik's gaze. I prayed to heaven for something to say to him, anything that would help us find peace. Before I could, however, he spoke up.

"It is growing late, my dear. You should retire." But I wasn't tired, and I didn't wish to sleep.

"Erik," I began, suddenly finding my voice very small, "Will you read to me, before I sleep?" He looked at me as though he hadn't understood. Whether he was surprised I still wished to be near him, or that I had spoken up at all, I couldn't tell.

"If it would please," he said slowly, studying me.

"It would."

* * *

I moved my long, bony fingers over the few strands of my hair, silently cursing my foolishness. _Why _had I said those things to her? _Why!_ I growled lightly, hunching as I sat up in my coffin. All because of that damned boy! I thought. That perfect boy that I was sure Christine would throw herself at if only to leave me!

But she had sworn—_Sworn!_—to come back to me. Should I let her leave, then? I thought. I could not, and yet I would have to. Eventually, I would have to say goodbye, leaving her with two options: return to me or be brought back by force.

Oh, but I would not let her linger in the darkness forever, chaining her to this clandestine double life. No, we could escape, and go far from handsome vicomtes, and damp cellars. She would be my light and my song, and I would make her happy—_so happy! _She would never want for anything!

I shivered. To keep her company, I would have to set her free. If she cares, I thought, she will come back.

And what better time than the present?

* * *

Ack! I know, I know! It's short! And crappy! But I promise (seriously) to have the next chapter up within a few days, and it will be the last chapter of the two weeks. No, that does not mean the story will end, it's going to be a lot longer. And sorry for the long wait for this chapter, my dad has been hogging the computer and I haven't been able to get on. Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed!

Ps: Tell me if I'm getting OOC. Flames on this subject welcome.

Quiet2885—Yay, I actually tricked someone with the chapter title! ;) And please, _you _butchering the characters! Have you read your own fanfic? Sweet Music's Throne was amazing! I'm urging you to make a Leroux romance NOW!

Wendela—I changed chapter 7 because of its inaccuracies. I put Hannibal instead of Faust, acted like there was a shore outside of Erik's house, ect. Haha, Erik a bedroom dream? Well, heck, old, noseless, skinny Erik IS my bedroom dream! ;)And thank you, I do try to respect Leroux. ) About Susan Kay, I might read it one day, just to see what all the fuss is about, but definitely not while it's selling for two hundred dollars on Ebay, lol.

Miranda7911— Joins party YEAH! Ack, stupid boat. I'll keep that in mind next time he rows across the lake and realizes he's missing an oar. Hehe. Wow, you just said everything about Kay's book that I feared. And isn't she pregnant w/ Erik's kid at the end, too, or was someone lying to me? Either way, it sounds like she _has_ butchered it, so I'll be scratching that one off my reading list. About the pool on the roof, if you go to the beginning of the actual Apollo's Lyre scene, it describes a swimming pool that the ballet boys used to learn to swim in in the summer. And hey, not only did I add a LINE about Erik not liking the sun, I added many! LOL! Oh, and you'll see why Christine brings Raoul to the roof later. Thanks!

Allegratree—Thank you! Well, I added your contrast to stuffiness, even if it came a little late.

Hereswith—Thanks!

Reading Redhead—Thanks! Aw, that sucks! Well, I'm rooting for you!

Cmdr. Gabe E—Thank you so much! And while there's not too much going on this chapter, next chapter will be pretty long, and include light fluffy moments! Weeee!

Blaze of the Inferno—Thank you so, so much! I'm really glad you liked the rooftop scene, I was hoping to make it cute without being fluffy. You know, your insight on Erik's deformity have really given me thoughts for the next few chapters, and its encouraging me to take their relationship very slow, and rightly so, I think. And don't worry, if this chapter was bad, I'll correct it with the next post, so don't give up on me! Again, thank you thank you thank you! –hugs-


	10. Promise me

"Are you finished, Christine?" he asked me from across the table. I stared at my nearly empty plate, and nodded. "Good," he smiled, "because I have a surprise for you." I glanced up, narrowing my brow in confusion.

"A surprise? Are we going up to the roof again?"

"No, my dear, not tonight." He got up and walked into drawing room, coming back with both of our coats. I smiled in spite of myself.

"What are we doing, Erik?"

"So curious! But you shall have to wait until we are outside, I'm afraid." Outside? For a moment I thought he would let me go, but the expression on his face killed all ideas of freedom. He was far too…happy, perhaps? Excited?

He held out his arm. "Come, mon ange. Tonight we flee the underworld." I placed my hand lightly on his sleeve, and allowed him to help steady me as I got into the boat. As we rode along I leaned back against the frame, and relaxed into the swaying motion of the water beneath us.

As expected, Cesar greeted us, and I stroked his nose fondly. My cheeks reddened as I stepped on the side of him, waiting helplessly for Erik's assistance, which he offered without hesitation. We followed the familiar path to my dressing room, and once before the mirror Erik put up his hood and grasped the glass, pulling it aside.

"We need to be quick," he said, turning to me. "Follow me." Walking with large strides, Erik was oblivious to the fact that I had to jog just to keep up with him. He took me down the staircase, now devoid of candlelight. He turned away from the front entrance, and for a moment I simply stared. I could easily have screamed then, could have ran as fast as my legs would carry, and I would have been free from him—the door was so close! But I didn't. I turned towards his tall, shadowy figure, and ran to catch up. He had stopped as well, and was staring at me intently.

"Are you ready to continue?" he asked me softly, and for a moment I thought I saw a wet gleam on his face.

"I am," I said, and he nodded.

We went out the back entrance of the Opera House, a door usually reserved for workers carrying props and such in and out of the theater. I had no idea what Erik intended, until I spotted the still carriage that beckoned us from the shadows. I stopped by the door, at a loss for what to do.

"Mademoiselle," Erik said, playfully bowing as he ushered me in. I smiled.

"Thank you, Monsieur," I responded, picking up my skirt and stepping inside. The interior was barely illuminated with moonlight, and I could just make out the two seats on either side of me. I chose the one on the left, and Erik followed behind me, choosing the one on the right. We faced each other, his golden eyes devouring mine, before he turned to shut the door. We were off.

"Why are you doing this for me? I thought I wasn't allowed to leave the Opera House," I said some moments later.

"I thought you might enjoy it," he told me. "I know it tends to wear on one, being cooped up down there." I nodded slowly. Poor Erik, I thought being down there for—how long had it been? Two weeks?—was uncomfortable, but how long had Erik suffered the stiff air and darkness, and alone?

"It's a beautiful night," I started, attempting to change the subject. "Do you do this often?" I thought he smirked in the moonlight.

"No, not often. In fact, not for many years."

"But are you enjoying it?" I asked.

"Very much," he said, and for a brief second our eyes locked, allowing me to read the soft adoration and longing reflected within him. I blushed deeply, and laid my head against the window. Outside I could see the rows of shops, one for fashion and food and such, all gray against the moonlight.

"Sing for me, Erik," I implored, and closed my eyes as he began a low lullaby. For a brief moment I was content, if not happy, to be with him while we paraded around Paris. I couldn't help but imagine Erik as a normal man—a man who didn't sleep in a coffin, or live underground…a man with a face. I was woken from my thoughts by a strangled voice, shouting something that sounded oddly like my name.

"Christine! Christine!" My eyes snapped open, and I turned around to see what made my heart sink with despair. There was Raoul, frantic and gasping, running madly after our carriage. For a moment I could only gape in shock, before my senses returned and I pushed myself the middle of the carriage. Erik yelled at the driver to go faster, and I gulped. I feared more than anything for the safety of my friend, and the look that now took shape in Erik's eyes was all the assurance I needed to know Raoul was in danger.

"How did he know?" He spat at me. "Did you tell him?"

"I—No, Erik—I—I've been with you. You know I couldn't have told him, and I never would have!"

"Oh, really? You once told me you cared for him! Why not now? Don't pretend you don't long to jump out this carriage and into his arms! Don't you lie to me, Christine!" I choked back a sob as tears made their way down my pale cheeks.

"I'm not lying! Did you see me try to get out? Did I even call out to him?"

"You were afraid for him!" he cried. "You were afraid of me!" In a last attempt, I grabbed onto his coat sleeve.

"Please, he's leaving the country," I said, trying to still him. "He's going to the North Pole, and I'll never see him again." I allowed Erik to read my expression, and hoped to the heavens he found me sincere.

"You swear to me?"

"I do."

"And when does he leave?"

"In a month's time. Thirty days or less and I'll know him no longer." His shaking subsided, but his fists did not unclench themselves. I cast my head down, unable to face him.

"Please don't be angry with me," I whispered. Something like a soft sigh fell from his lips.

"I am not angry with you, Christine," he said so gently it frightened me. He yelled to the driver to take us back, shouting directions I took no note of. We spent the remainder of the carriage ride in silence, and even as we crossed the lake very few words were ushered.

Once we were back in the house, Erik took my coat and hung it with his near the door. I stared awkwardly at the floor as he walked towards me.

"It is late, my dear. You must be tired." I opened my mouth, but realizing I had nothing to say, I shut it once more.

"I…I want to thank you, Erik, for the ride," I said quietly.

"You are welcome," he replied, equally as still.

"Goodnight, then," I said, and began walking towards my bedroom door.

"Christine—!" he stopped me, and I turned to face him. He fidgeted nervously as he drew something from him pocket. It was a small jewelry case, and as he stood near me he opened it. My lips parted in surprise to see the shining golden band, and my heart panged in my chest as I looked from the ring to him. It was a wedding ring, like any fiancé would give his beloved.

"I would ask that you wear this," he started, "but only as a promise. You once swore to me that you would never marry, and I would hope you do not intend to break your word. You are everything that matters in the world to me, and I…I cannot live while you wed another." He paused. "I want you to know that if you do accept this ring, nothing bad will happen to you or those you love while you stay in this theater. I swear it."

I looked down at the band, unable to lift my gaze to him. In my musings I realized that for over three months I had had my heart set on never marrying, so why should I change my mind so suddenly? Erik waited patiently for my response, and I thought over his pleas. I knew this ring would mean more to him than he would say—it would mean I wore his ring, and his ring alone. But he must have no known I could never marry him!

"I will wear it," I said firmly. Erik's hands shook involuntarily as he lifted the ring from its box, and looked uncertainly at me. For the first time since coming down here, I held a pale hand out to him. Why should I forever be afraid of the hands of a man who had sworn never to even touch me without my permission? Regardless, Erik took special care not to graze his death fingers with mine.

"I—Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight, Erik," I said, and made my way to my room.

* * *

I do not think I had ever loved her more than when she lay there, eyes shut and face serene, wearing the golden band I had bought her. Oh, she was like a real fiancé! If she had not accepted me, at least she would accept no other. I had eternity, then, to try and win her love.

Afraid that I would do something unthinkable if I stayed any longer, I fled the room, and retired to my organ. Thoughts of her face clouded my mind, and in all my rare joy my fingers played over a softer, sweeter melody, and I sung softly.

_The truest love that ever heart Felt at its kindled core, Did through each vein, in quickened start, The tide of being pour. _

_Her coming was my hope each day, Her parting was my pain; The chance that did her steps delay Was ice in every vein. _

_I dreamed it would be nameless bliss, As I loved, loved to be; And to this object did I press As blind as eagerly. _

_But wide as pathless was the space That lay our lives between, And dangerous as the foamy race Of ocean-surges green. _

_And haunted as a robber-path Through wilderness or wood; For Might and Right, and Woe and Wrath, Between our spirits stood. _

_I dangers dared; I hindrance scorned; I omens did defy: Whatever menaced, harassed, warned, I passed impetuous by. _

_On sped my rainbow, fast as light; I flew as in a dream; For glorious rose upon my sight That child of Shower and Gleam. _

_Still bright on clouds of suffering dim Shines that soft, solemn joy; Nor care I now, how dense and grim Disasters gather nigh. _

_I care not in this moment sweet, Though all I have rushed o'er Should come on pinion, strong and fleet, Proclaiming vengeance sore: _

_Though haughty Hate should strike me down, Right, bar approach to me, And grinding Might, with furious frown, Swear endless enmity. _

_My love has placed her little hand With noble faith in mine, And vowed that wedlock's sacred band Our nature shall entwine. _

_My love has sworn, with sealing kiss, With me to live--to die; I have at last my nameless bliss. As I love--loved am I! _

I stopped, and my heart caught in my throat to see Christine standing at the back of my organ, her pale form shaking slightly as tears fell from her eyes.

"That was beautiful," she whispered, her lips turning upward in a small smile. For a moment I could only stare at her before I regained my senses.

"I am sorry to have woken you," I said at last. She shook her head.

"I'm glad you did," she paused before adding, "will you play some more, for me?"

"Of course, angel. What would you like to hear?"

"Play from _Romeo et Juliette_. Play from their wedding night." She sank into the chair left of the organ, and closed her eyes against the music. I was glad, for she was oblivious to my tears.

* * *

A/N: Wow, an entire five page chapter! Yoohoo!

Ps: I don't own PotO, or Jane Eyre, which is where Erik's song is from.

Quiet2885—Hmm, I did intend to bring Nadir in, but now I'm not sure when that'll be. To be totally honest, I have a very vague idea of where this story is going, and it's subject to change at any moment. The only thing I know is that I will end it E/C, because I'm really incapable of having it end any other way, lol. I'll look forward to your story, if you do decide to write a book-based fic! Thanks so much!

Reading Redhead—Thank you, I'm glad I didn't screw Erik up. Hopefully I won't in this chapter, either.

Jo—Thanks! Yeah, poor Erik…

Hereswith—Thank you! It's good to know some like their relationship being taken slow. I really just can't see it any other way. Although, sometimes I get bored with writing a chap and end up writing a sentence like, '"I love you," said Christine, and they made out like monkeys.' Thank goodness for my self-control, huh? ;) lol.

Allegratree—Thank you so, so much! And no, I haven't pre-written my ending, but that is a good idea. First I'll have to figure out where this story ends, lol. Maybe sometime in the next five chaps…something involving the whole gang…muses

Scimitarmoon—Thank you! And…were you telling me something or just bursting into song? Lol.

Blaze—Yes, chapter nine took place the day after the rooftop scene. Christine woke up in the morning, spent the day on Faust, and their conversation took place in the evening. ) About the whole reading thing…that was a mistake on my part. I had intended to attach this other scene with him reading to her, but I got bored and cut it. So, obviously, singing would have worked well in place of that but my head in rarely screwed on right. And thanks, I'm glad you're backing me on Erik's moody moments. Ack, that fic sounds horrible. Erik would never, ever be mad if he didn't receive a thank you. Sheesh. Oh, and don't worry, carriage scene not forgotten. ;) Thank you so much! Btw, OOC means out-of-character.

Miranda7911—cracks up She DOES have Erik's child! What is this woman on? I have so many things to say to that, but I'll zip my lips until I can send her a nasty letter. Why are people so into it, then? shudders Back on track, thanks so much for reviewing!


	11. When we've said goodbye

Disclaimer: I don't own PotO, or Jane Eyre.

I sat perched upon my organ bench, glancing at the angel laying lax on the chair to my right. The ending notes of my song had died off, and all was quiet except for the gentle rhythm of her breaths. Debating whether or not to help her stir, I leaned forward, and whispered:

"Christine?" She took no notice of my attempt to wake her. I sighed softly. "Angel?" Still, nothing. I continued to gaze upon her, noting the way her light strands fell in waves across her ivory flesh, and how reachable her small fingers seemed.

Not knowing how long it would take her to wake fully, I shied away, and decided for her sake not to be here when she gained consciousness. Taking my leave, I fled into my room, sat on the lid of my confining bed, and let out a shaky breath.

_How can I let her go? _I thought. More than unwanted, my mind answered: _How can you not?_ But would she come back to me? After all, she had stayed this long, and hadn't complained after the initial shock of our first meeting. Good, sweet Christine. But there would be terms to her departure, ones she would either abide by, or face the grim consequences.

At breakfast I said nothing to her of my plans, instead remarking on her radiant appearance, to which she answered with a blush. When she had finished her meal, and I had put down my tea, I could do nothing but hold her gaze. I realized then just what would happen if I let her go, and my mind conjured up pictures of thick darkness and world where I would once again be utterly alone. I was not prepared for that existence anymore.

I stood. "Come, Christine," I told her, "Let us sing together." She followed obediently.

We spent the rest of the day with one another, toying with classical pieces, and putting the final touches on Faust. I told myself I had merely lost track of the hours, but that her freedom was still imminent. And yet, for that day, as with all days, I could not get enough of her song and smile, and I selfishly went around any opportune moments to tell her she could leave. When I knew the Paris sky was growing dim, I turned to her with a fresh idea.

"Dinner will be ready shortly," I informed her. "You may wait in the drawing room, if you wish." She nodded gratefully, stretched her arms, and left to sit on one of the larger divans.

I took my leave by walking through one of the numerous hidden doors, where I found myself in the kitchen.

* * *

"Dinner is served," Erik said, bowing slightly mischievously.

I nodded warily, and placed my hand on the sleeve of his coat. His eyes darted quickly to the contact before he led me along into the dining room. I stood still in the doorway for a moment, before I breathed:

"It looks beautiful." The tablecloth was white with lush embroidery filling in the edges, and upon it sat the most elegant china and alluring meal. He pulled out my chair, and I seated myself, fingering the red rose that lay across my plate.

"Wine?" he offered, and I nodded, quietly thanking him as he filled my glass. All was eerily silent as I picked and chose from the various dishes, and I looked up, once again disappointed that he refused to eat with me.

"Erik…" I began cautiously, "Will you not eat something?" He shook his head almost sadly.

"No, my dear. I will take my meal later. I do not wish to embarrass you."

"You won't," I persisted, then: "You're so thin, Erik." I blushed deeply, not knowing if I had offended him, and covered up with: "It…it would please me to know you are eating." His demeanor was so serious that for a moment I was frightened. Golden eyes pierced into mine as I tried to stare unflinchingly back. Finally, he said softly:

"Very well, Christine. If you wish it." I breathed out in relief. Erik reached a slightly trembling hand across the table, took hold of a plate, and covered it with one of the sautéed fish. He picked up his fork and knife, but when the fish was on the end of his silverware he froze. Darting his eyes to me, his face was furrowed in pain from the fear of rejection, and I tried to smile back encouragingly. In one swift motion his eyes were squeezed shut and the food was in his mouth. Although he looked like he was having trouble keeping it from slipping through his lips, the food went down, and I smiled brightly.

"It's delicious, isn't it?" I asked. He could only nod.

I did not look up again until the end of our meal, and found Erik to be silently crying. Surprised, I asked if anything was wrong. He did not answer the question, but instead said:

"Christine, you once told me that if I let you go, you would return. Will you hold yourself to that promise?" Not daring to believe, I replied carefully with:

"Yes, I said I would…"

"Then you are free to go, for a time."

"F-free?" I stuttered. "How…how long is a time?"

"There is a masked ball on the next night. If you keep your word, we will meet then. And you will, won't you, Christine?" My heart thudded—slow, loud, and pounding. _Freedom!_ I was almost afraid of the chance to escape, afraid that I wouldn't return to him. But I knew, deep down, that I could never leave him—not like this, not during a test of loyalty—especially after all of the pain I had caused him. No…

"Yes, Erik. At the masked ball." He nodded. Out of his coat he produced a long wooden box, and opened the lid for me to see its contents. Inside was an unusually large brass key, and I glanced up at him, puzzled.

"This is the key to the Rue Scribe," he explained. "When you…return, I will greet you at its gate." I took the case in my hand when he offered it, and nodded. I tried to think of something to respond with, any sort of parting sentiment, but I only got as far as opening and shutting my mouth unintelligently. With some effort, he told me softly to get my coat, and I did so obediently.

The journey up the first five levels of the Opera House was spent in a heart-wrenching silence that neither of us could seem to overcome. When we finally reached the gate I took out the key, but before I could stick it in the lock Erik startled me by grabbing the bars and holding them shut.

"First," he demanded, "promise me you will not seek him out."

"W-who?" I asked, feigning ignorance. Perhaps if he believed I hadn't thought of Raoul… but his stare hardened, daring me to play games with him.

"You know very well who! Your darling Vicomte! Swear to me, Christine, that you won't so much as speak to him!"

My mouth parted, and I stared at him with wide, skeptical eyes. Why would he forbid me from seeing Raoul? I understood his jealousy, but Raoul was leaving! These few days of freedom could very well be my only chance to give him a proper goodbye.

"I…" His fingernails dug with a frightening intensity into his palms. I shivered, and, suddenly afraid, cast my eyes down.

"_Swear to me_."

"I swear, Erik," I spoke softly to the ground. "But he is only a friend. Why keep me from at least saying goodbye?"

"Because, my dear, you could merely start out to say goodbye, and realize you do not want to him to leave, after all. Then you might break your promise, and that would certainly put you in dangerous circumstances." My head snapped up at the threat, and I searched his eyes for any truth to the words. Would—would he hurt me?

"Fine, Erik," I said, somewhat warily, drawing my cape over my shoulders. "I won't see him."

To my relief, he removed his hand from the bars, and moved to let me pass. As I began to walk, however, I felt a hand tug at my skirt. I turned back and saw Erik staring sadly and pleadingly into my face.

"I love you, Christine," he whispered, and I was no longer afraid or upset, but full of pity. It seemed, for a moment, that we were any other couple, and he was simply apologizing for whatever lover's quarrel we may have had. In an act of comfort I put my hand on the sleeve of his arm, and gave the slightest hint of a nod. I think he knew I would return.

My little apartment was untouched. The only difference I found upon entering was the slight coat of dust that glazed my furniture. I sat on the edge of my bed and rested my chin in the palm of my hand, my eyes falling over the contents of my room. I sighed softly, and thought ironically that freedom was overrated. However, I do not believe I had ever appreciated the sun so much as when I stepped out of the damp cellars and felt its warm rays pouring onto my face.

When I had finished my musings I got restlessly to my feet and headed for the door. The day brilliantly sunny, and I undid the clasp of my shoes, letting my feet brush across the clean grass. I decided to sit on the little bench that ran at the side of my door, and took up my book.

_"On this arm, I have neither hand nor nails," he said, drawing the mutilated limb from his breast, and showing it to me. "It is a mere stump—a ghastly sight! Don't you think so, Jane?" _

_"It is a pity to see it; and a pity to see your eyes—and the scar of fire on your forehead: and the worst of it is, one is in danger of loving you too well for all this; and making too much of you." _

_"I thought you would be revolted, Jane, when you saw my arm, and my cicatrized visage." _

_"Did you? Don't tell me so—lest I should say something disparaging to your judgment."_

…

Later that night I put on my ruffled nightgown, and slipped under the covers in my bed. I rubbed my head against the pillow, trying desperately to get comfortable. Yet the house seemed darker, lonelier, and colder than it ever had, and tears threatened to spill. I tried to imagine I was in a familiar underground lair, with candlelight glowing at my bedside, and music lulling me to sleep. But when I opened my eyes, neither was there.

"Oh, heavens!" I grumbled softly, snuggling deeper into the blankets even as I frowned. Sighing, I sat up, and rubbed my arms before going to stand by the window. From behind the glass I looked up at the stars, not quite as bright or as many as one can see from the roof, but they reminded me of him. They reminded me of the ring on my finger, and the promise to go back.

After a few minutes of this wistful gazing I went hesitantly back to my bed, this time for the rest of the night.

…

In the morning I woke to the sun's rays falling unwanted onto my pale eyelids. I groaned, and passed a hand over my face before giving into the daylight. After getting dressed and rummaging through the kitchen, I thought absently that there was nothing for me to do. Erik had assured me my absence at the Opera House was a solved matter, and I was allowed nowhere near Raoul. I thought of poor Mama Valerius, who I had not been able to send a message to for over two weeks, and quickly retrieved my ink and quill. On the paper I wrote only a small note with little detail:

_Mama,_

_Please do not stress over my absence. I have been with my angel of music_—here I cringed, but thought that perhaps it was not so great a lie—_and I will come to see you as quickly as I can._

_Christine_

I prayed that returning to Erik at the ball would allow him to trust in me, so that I could go freely to see Mama Valerius. I longed to see her that day, to confess to someone of these last frightening weeks, but the ride to and from alone would not give me enough time to return for the masque.

I mused on the ball, and doubted if I was to be led arm in arm by Erik around the hall. That would arouse only more suspicion about any connection I had with 'Opera Ghost,' and surely he would not want that stain on my career. Would he even come at all? My thoughts suddenly turned to an image of dancing with his deathly visage, as the onlookers stared in horror, but I shook it off with a shiver. His face turned instead to Raoul's, handsome and alive and laughing. I smiled for a moment, but when I saw him running in terror towards my carriage I frowned. What he must think! I had an idea then, frightening and uninvited, and it stuck with me until I walked with hesitation towards my desk. Taking up a quill, my fingers froze just beyond the paper, and black dots began dripping onto the pure parchment. My hands were shaking visibly as I scrawled this:

_My friend,_

_Go to the Opera's masked ball on this night. At midnight, be in the little drawing room behind the fireplace of the main lobby. Stand near the doorway that leads to the rotunda. Don't tell anyone in the world about this appointment. Wear a white domino and be well masked. For the sake of your life and mine, let no one recognize you._

_Christine._

I folded the letter into an envelope, and quickly lit a candle to warm the wax on. Pressing hard, I made sure the letter's seal was secure before I grasped it in my hand. I had made my decision, no matter what it could mean for me, and I knew what to do.

…

Once outside I was startled to see the carriage that had taken me to my flat yesterday now waiting lazily in its previous spot. As I approached, a tall, bearded man stepped down, tipping his hat before telling me politely that my carriage was ready. I quietly thanked him before stepping inside.

Letting me off just before the steps to the Opera House, I was forced to make the remainder of my journey alone. The hands that clutched my letters shook with fright, and I had to breath in deeply before continuing. Dismay began to grow when I found no postman in sight. I wanted badly to run to the post office, but my fear of running into Raoul kept me grounded. So I kept my eyes peeled for any man in the usual mail-carrying suit. I didn't have to wait long, however, before one came walking around the corner, and I jogged up to him almost ecstatically. My letters were sent; there would be no turning back now.

The gate to the Rue Scribe stood shadowing the dirt road. I breathed in, took out my key, and turned it in the lock. The bars swung open with a sickening screech, and I closed my eyes while I waited for it to pass. I have to do this, I told myself. Erik will never let me alone at the ball if he believes I will still run from him. In the darkness, the hall seemed longer and denser than ever, and I hardly had enough breath to say:

"Erik?" No answer. "Erik? It's-it's Christine." Still, nothing. I walked farther from the light, and parted my lips.

_Angel in heaven bless'd, my soul longs to rest with thee!_

I strained my ears just enough to hear a soft rustling. He had heard.

* * *

She was gone. _Gone. _My light, my goodness, my angel. _Gone. _

I sat on the dark bank of the Rue Scribe, unwilling to do anything but wait for her return. There had been times before when she had left, yes, but it was during the months I had tutored her. Never before had I been with her long enough to feel the weight of her absence destroying me. Never had I needed to see her so bad.

I looked into the darkness, and thought of how I missed her light, her glowing presence. I missed her graceful blushes and kind smiles, and the way her eyes sparkled when I sung to her. I missed the one who was inhuman enough to look past my face.

I let my head fall into my hands. "Christine…Christine…" Words. Murmurs. Was I imagining her return so vividly that her voice resounded fresh in my ears?

"Erik?" I immediately jerked up, but made no move to stand. Surely I had gone insane…

_Angel in heaven bless'd, my soul longs to rest with thee!_

I was sobbing now. Her voice! Her precious, glorious voice! I walked dazedly towards whatever awaited me at the gate, be it the real flesh of my angel or the madness that filled me now.

I was startled by the ghostly figure that glided deeper into the darkness, the creature so reminiscent of my Christine.

"Erik?" She asked tremulously.

"I am here, angel," I told her. Real or not, I was suddenly content beyond my ability to describe. At the sound of my voice she seemed to go limp with relief, and I was assured it was she. But…

"Christine, is something wrong?" She shook her head unconvincingly, a small, strained smile beginning to appear.

"No…I-I was just…lonely, I guess. I thought I would return earlier…" I was skeptical, but would not touch on a subject she obviously did not wish to discuss.

"Christine," I said warily, "I gave you your freedom. You do not need to come until tonight."

"I know," was all she said before coming to stand at my side. At a loss for words, I could only hold out my arm as her guide. Laying her hand on the arm of my coat, she walked more gracefully than I had ever seen her through the dark. As tears began to form and fall across my pale visage one thought repeated itself in my mind:

She had come home.

* * *

A/N: Okay, here's the deal. A severe case of writer's block prevented me from completing this revision, and I know it has taken me forever, and I'm really sorry. Hopefully you all haven't forgotten about this story, lol. Anyway, I took a lot of Blaze's advice, and went back and corrected a lot of my mistakes. Hopefully it's better, and even if it's not, I am soooo never touching this chapter again. ;)

Here are the replies from last time:

Miranda—That was really nice of you to email when you could have not reviewed at all, so thank you! Wow, you certainly hate Susan Kay, but it's all good because just reading your review of Phantom has made me hate her as well. Erik is basically selfish, lusting after Christine because she looks like his mom, is more in love with his cat than her, and shoots up? Wow, she certainly has him in character, doesn't she? Haha, read Fred Forsthye? That's a good one. Like I'd ever pay money for THAT gosh-forsaken novel. Isn't it about Erik going to Manhattan and falling for a blind girl or something? You're right, punjabs for them both, it's proper justice. Oh, and I can't tell you how much better I felt after reading your review! After Allegratree said she'd cry if I ended it E/C, I thought, well, is everyone else going to stop reading, too? I'm very happy to know others will stick with me if I don't end it with Christine running off with the frill-loving fop. shudders C/R…bleck…

Allison—Thank you!

Quiet2885—You know, I really feel like hugging you. As for Raoul being in here, Yeah, that freak enters in the next chapter, unfortunately. groans I do NOT want to write about him. But, alas, I must.

Reading Redhead—Thanks so much! I'm glad you liked the song, too. I was reading Jane Eyre and when I came across it this little Erik light bulb went off in my head. ;)

Mini Nicka—Where is it going? Well, if I told you that, it wouldn't be secret, which it is. You'll just have to keep reading. ;)

Mornel—Thank you!

Cmdr. Gabe E—Wow, thank you! And if I must update, then…well…here it is!

Allegratree—Thank you so much! Oh, and yeah, I usually make quite a few grammar errors, sorry about that. You're going to hate me for this, but despite your efforts I'll probably still end it E/C. But don't worry, it's not going to be dramatic or fluffy, it will almost be subtle with the way I've planned it. But…sniff…you can stop reading if you want…

Wendela—Yay, my fic's a flower! Oh, I have a question about Kay. Why didn't Christine stay with Erik if she was willing to have his child! I am so confused…

Everspring Native—Wow, I can barely think back to the first chapters, but I'm pretty sure they were bad, so just…try to forget my mistakes, lol. Oh, and I hope that if you continue reading you'll find this story agreeable. Thanks for reviewing!

Blaze—Yay! I was so happy when you reviewed! Thank you so much, it means a lot to me for you to say I've improved, so I hope I haven't fallen too far with this last update. Haha, you know, I was considering the whole, 'Erik jogging ahead of Christine' thing, and while I knew it was unlikely, I put it in there so that she could fall behind near the exit doors. About Erik watching Christine…um…I have no excuses. cough I tried to put into this chapter why Erik loved Christine instead of lusting after her, although of course he finds her attractive, and I don't know…I think it just came out annoyingly fluffy, lol. Oh well. "Who? What? Huh? Me?" Haha! I'm glad Christine's confusion was amusing. ;) 8 INDIVIDUAL PROJECTS! Sheez…I'm glad you reviewed at all, then. Good luck with those!

LudivinePHlover—I saw your stuff, and reviewed three, I think. The Raoul one was my favorite, very amusing!


	12. As Sirens call the Sailors

A/N: CHAPTER 11 HAS BEEN COMPLETELY RE-WRITTEN! PLEASE GO BACK AND READ IF YOU WANT TO UNDERSTAND THIS CHAPTER! THANK YOU!

* * *

I sat upright before my organ and let my long, thin fingers graze the keys. Christine listened contentedly from my right side, sometimes unconsciously humming the melody. We were both woken from within our minds by several rings resounding off the walls.

"What was that?" asked Christine, her body leaning off the divan in alarm. I growled softly in annoyance before uprooting myself from the bench and heading for the door. Her voice was edged with fright as it followed me, calling my name.

"We have a guest, my dear," I replied sarcastically. "I really must go out and greet him."

"Erik!" she called frantically, but I was already out the door.

…

I did not shiver even as I waded deeper and deeper into the icy waters of Lake Averne. Slipping the reed between my lips and firmly pressing together, I submerged myself fully, waiting in grim anticipation for any new rippling in the water. I knew the boat would be coming near any moment, and so I began the siren's song—low, soft, entrancing. As the poor fool came closer I could feel him slowing with curiosity. Stopping completely, the boat was nearly over me. I rose with my song, only seeing the faint, blurry outline of the man's face before grabbing his collar and dragging him down. He screamed incoherently beneath the water as I struggled to drown him. I turned his head up meet my eyes, the last things I assumed he would ever see. Yet when I saw his face it was I who became stunned at its familiarity. Grabbing him by his shirtfront, I hoisted him above the surface, letting out a long growl as we broke through the water.

"What were you doing?" I cried harshly, half-dragging him onto the boat. He sputtered violently on his knees before breathing in deeply and moving to lie against the frame. "You know, Daroga, you're dangerously close to being on my bad side!"

"What _was_ that?" He shuddered.

"The siren," I explained, calming my voice as I hopped into the vessel. "And it would have gotten you, had I not been there to intervene." I gave a quiet, sarcastic laugh, and he glanced at me with dark, wary eyes.

"I've been following you, Erik," he said, sitting up and trying pathetically to seem stronger than he was.

"Have you?" I cut in. "Well, you should know that I'm not the only one who has been followed. You say you've been tracking me? Do you mean the two times you were sneaking around my cellars, and were brought back by the man in the felt hat? Or the days prior to those, when you wandered around at rehearsal time for stories of the infamous Opera Ghost? Yes, daroga, I know very well what you've been doing, and I'll tell you now that I won't answer for anything!"

"Where is Christine Daae?"

"What makes you think she's with me?" I asked, half avoiding the question.

"I know you, Erik, and I know she's here. Your actual confession is of little concern to me." He paused. "However, I am concerned for her sake."

"Concerned?" I arched an eyebrow. "And what reason is there for alarm?"

"For haven's sake, Erik, you've kidnapped the poor girl! She's being held against her will!"

"That's where you're wrong, daroga!" I shot back. "She…she loves me…for myself." The words flowed so sweetly on my lips that for a moment I was glad to have Nadir near me that I could share my grotesque fantasy with another being.

"That is a lie, Erik! You abducted her and now she's your prisoner!"

"No, no, it isn't a lie," I said softly. "Oh, you should see her, daroga! You should see her when she looks at me without the mask—"

"She has seen you _without the mask_?" He asked incredulously, his eyes wide and unbelieving.

"Yes, and she isn't disgusted. Weeks ago she threw my mask into the fire, and then we wept, together." I shuddered. "Oh, I love her so!" Nadir remained silent, and so I began again.

"Will you come to my wedding, daroga? It will all take place in the Madeleine Church, where I'll play our wedding mass for her. _Kyrie, kyrie, kyrie eleison_…" My heals slapped against the wood in an imitation of the mass' tune.

"I'll believe you," he broke me out my dream state, "when I see her leave and return to you of her own accord."

"Ah, but that has already happened. She left me yesterday, and returned just this morning. Never mind that, though. You will see. Come to the masque tonight, daroga. Christine and I will be there for a time, and when you see her go into her dressing room at the end of it all you'll know she has come back to me willingly. Yes, she'll come back to me because she'll want to."

"I'll be there," he returned quickly, "though I doubt I'll see what you believe I will." I shrugged it off.

"Now, you really must be on your way. Christine seemed rather upset when I left her so rudely, all on your behalf. You can paddle back up through these waters, but I swear to you, daroga, that if I ever catch you sneaking around down here again I will not be so merciful as today." Pushing myself back into the lake, I treaded through the water and walked back onto the shore. Nadir stared at me with contempt and idiocy before finally grabbing the oars and rowing away.

After pushing the stone in the wall and opening the door, I was surprised to see Christine standing before me, her face tear streaked and her body shaking tremulously. For a moment I could only stare at her, feeling guilty for a sin I didn't even know I'd committed.

"I-I heard splashing," she informed me quietly. I crossed through the wall and attempted to lead her to the divan, ignoring the fact that my soaking clothes were probably not easing her mind.

"Christine—" For the first time in a long time she flinched as I drew closer.

"Who…who was it? Why are you wet?"

"I mistook the identity of a friend of mine, and we ended up turning over the boat. I'm sorry to have frightened you."

"Please don't lie to me, Erik. Where is he?"

"That _is _the truth!" When she would not meet my gaze I jumped to my feet and asked her to do the same. "I want you to see something," I told her. Opening the door back up, we both looked out across the lake.

"Do you see a body, Christine?" No answer. "Do you see the boat?" Still, nothing. "I don't suppose you would, seeing as the only way it would have gotten back to the dock is if _he had taken it there!_" There were fresh tears on her face now, and with a guilty stab I knelt before her, and said softly: "Trust in me, Child. I would never lie to hurt you. I… I never _want_ to hurt you." She nodded.

"I'm sorry, Erik," and she truly did look it. "I believe you."

"Come," I told her gently. "Why don't we have lunch?"

"Yes," she nodded, walking towards her room, "Give me moment, please, and then I'll meet you."

"Christine? Are you in there, angel?" I passed a hand over my face to calm myself before replying.

"C-come in," I said through the wall. He pushed open the door, carrying with him a long white dress bag.

"I thought you might need this for the masquerade," he said before laying it down on the bed. I nodded gratefully.

"Thank you." He dismissed it with a quiet wave of his hand before turning to go.

"Lunch is ready when you wish it, my dear." When the clink of the door shutting reached my ears, I turned back to the dress bag. Unzipping it, I saw a long, flowing black gown made of rich velvet. Running across the shoulders was an almost translucent dark shawl. I brushed my fingers across the light fabric, my lips unconsciously twisting upward. It was beautiful.

During our afternoon meal both of us seemed reluctant to talk. Every time I stared at him I could only think of the visitor he had encountered today. I truly believed he had spared whatever man had found his way down here, and that wasn't what troubled me now. It was, strangely enough, the thought that Erik had friends. I suppose in some odd way I believed if Erik had had anyone at all, he would not have kidnapped me. Who was he then, really? Had there been other girls…? Erik was an extraordinary being, and old enough to have had experience in many matters. Yet I felt nauseous at the thought of any other girl close to Erik…kissing him when I would not. I pushed it in the back of my mind, desperately to clear my head, and asked somewhat tremulously:

"Are…are you going to the masquerade, Erik?" He smiled slightly.

"It would seem a perfect a occasion for one such as I, wouldn't it?" He laughed lightly. "Yes, I'll be there. After all, how could I miss an opportunity to parade my favorite mask?" I smiled in spite of myself.

"I wasn't aware you had a favorite. Which one shall you be wearing?"

"That, my dear, will remain a secret until tonight." He paused. "Now, if you're finished, we can resume our work on Faust."

…

I spent the last hours of daylight preparing for the ball, but not only physically. My stomach felt so tight with stress that more than once I had to sit down, and simply breathe. I kept telling myself to be strong, that Erik would never know of my rendezvous with Raoul, but how could I be certain? Over and over I heard Erik's threatening voice, telling me coldly:

Then you might break your promise, and that would certainly put you in dangerous circumstances.

More than once I had begun to hope Raoul would not come at all. I prayed that the letter had never been given to him, that it was trampled and unrecognizable beneath the wheel of a carriage. Standing before my mirror, I breathed out, and pulled my shawl tightly around my ivory shoulders. I couldn't hesitate any longer.

"Erik?" I asked, opening my door. I turned to look in the shadows, and was surprised to see a tall strip of striking red. It walked farther out, and in the illumination of candlelight I slowly realized this was what Erik intended to wear to the masquerade.

The costume was a deep scarlet velvet, drawn out like his normal evening attire. He wore long black gloves and fitting boots. Before looking up I thought of how tall, and less sickly it made him look. But then my head turned to meet his, almost merrily, to see which mask _was _his favorite. I nearly screamed.

It was as white as bone, and seemed truly made from that human source. The expression was set in a cruel glare reminiscent of that first flash of anger. The lips were twisted in a snarl, and the nose was unsurprisingly nonexistent. He was death himself, hiding the scythe that was to be my end. I shut my eyes tightly before whispering:

"Do not come near me with that on. Please…" His voice was too gentle to come from the mouth I had seen as he answered:

"Does it truly frighten you so much?"

"Yes." I heard a soft rustling, and when I looked up the mask had disappeared.

"_This _is more to your liking, Christine?" He gestured to his face, the one that now paled in comparison to his disguise. For once, it was honestly not so bad.

"It is," I said quietly.

"Forgive me, then. I had not thought it was possible to frighten you by putting something _over _my face." His tone was not condescending, only surprised.

He walked towards me, and I saw the long, velvet cape that dripped like fire from his back. Had I not been so enthralled by its elegant stance and color I would not have seen the golden words that read: _Do not touch me_. _I am the red death passing by._

Grabbing something off the counter, he told me to hold still as he stood behind me. For a second I held my breath, but when a black domino passed over my eyes I felt secure again. He hadn't even touched me. Feeling the fabric, I turned around to face him and heard his breath catch in his throat.

"It suits you," was all he said. Grabbing his plumed hat, we passed through the door once again, got swiftly into the boat, and headed uneasily for the Opera House's main hall.

It was time.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I'm stopping there. **–**sticks out tongue- It took me forever to write. Anyway, I have a huge project to work on, so I hope you'll all forgive if the next update takes a while to get out. Thanks you for your reviews!

Quiet2885—Thank you so much! And yes, I know I've been rather vague about Christine's feeling for Raoul, but that will all be cleared up in the next chapter, when he throws a hissy fit. ;)

Clever Lass—Good, I'm glad you'll back me if I end it E/C, which I will, and I'll try very hard to make it tasteful and in-character. And yes, Mama Valerius will be appearing two chapters from now, and I can't wait to write that scene as it was one of my favorites in the book. Also, I'm sorry that the masque wasn't in the chapter, but I'll hopefully get that one up soon.

Reading Redhead—Yeah, stupid Raoul, he'll come in soon, unfortunately. Thank you, I hope you like the revision, and I also hope it was less confusing. )

Mini Nicka—Thanks!

LonelyBlueCat—Erik's mask is made of silk? Ooooo, sexay! ;) Lol, I'll have to go back and change that. And please, I'm happy for you to critique me, and I agree that she was ooc, which was one of the reasons I re-wrote it. Thank you for dropping a line!

Allison—Haha. Well, since I don't want you to cry and I've heard form Raoul that being punjabbed isn't painless, I'll have to give in and make it E/C. ;)

Allegratree—LOL! When I read your review I laughed so hard. I hadn't even realized I'd written the man as having a 'thick, French accent.' Geez, the things that spew out of my mind when I'm not paying attention. Btw, I'll try to make it as un-ridiculous as possible, and hopefully the ending will turn out as tastefully as we're both hoping for. Thank you!

Wendela—No, you didn't spoil it at all, you actually just saved me a bunch of money. That ending is almost more depressing than the original! Anyway, thank you!

Leonsalanna—Lol. And actually, no he won't. ;)

Cmdr. Gabe E—Aww, thanks! I really hope you'll like the revision, then, and even if you don't, I swear this story will get better. There's going to be fluff in the next chapter, too! Weeeee!

Blaze—Are you aware of just how insane you are? Holy mother of pearl, I'm giving you the award for longest review EVER! And when I say ever, I mean EVER! Anyway, wow. Thank you so much, you have no idea how much I appreciate it when you take the time help me out like that. I really hope you thought my revision was better. And hey, lol, if you're moving into the POH, so am I! ;) Sorry this reply is short, I'm in a hurry to get my psych paper out. Thank you again! –hugs-

Miranda—Thank you so much! Erik is obsessed with money and goes around in a CLOWN suit! -laughs for half an hour and then goes back to typing- Oh man, I have got meet this guy!


	13. Look for me

When Raoul entered the drawing room, his eyes glancing around with paranoia and eagerness, I had already been standing as a silent and grim figure for many minutes. I had to breathe in, anxiously pinching my gloved fingers in an attempt to ignore the sickening thudding of my heart. Erik had been gone for some time, and except for the rare glimpse of fiery red I had not seen him since. He had decided for me that it was necessary to separate. After all, if I were recognized, my reputation, although already somewhat tattered, would be absolutely torn to shreds. He believed that somehow, in all of their incompetence, the managers would know, and the Opera Ghost and his protégé would be revealed.

Raoul had done exactly as told, but I didn't recognize him only by his white domino. The long, boyish locks I had grown so accustomed to seeing over the years fell gracefully along the sides of his mask. _God preserve us_, I thought, forcing my legs to steady and walk towards him. Gently, I squeezed the tips of his fingers. He spun in my direction, jogging up to me while asking frantically:

"Is that you, Christine?" I cringed at his carelessness, and stopped for a moment to motion for his silence.

We were nearly to our destination when the scare of my life grabbed me by the throat, stealing my breath. Far into the ball room stood Erik, draped in his macabre suit and standing coolly among a crowd of enthusiastic admirers. Raoul stood still, leaning forward ever so slightly as though he meant to charge towards my angel. I grabbed him quickly by the sleeve of his coat, dragging him up two flights of stairs. What on earth had possessed him to still like that? Had Erik seen him? Had he…had he recognized him? My head throbbed painfully with panic.

When we reached the private box I pushed him to the back, shushing him and warning him not, under any circumstances, to reveal himself. I put my ear to the door, listening intently for the sound of Erik, but remembered with dismay that he carried no sound with him. No, his movements were light and cat-like; even his boots would not give him away. Opening the door ajar, I looked across either side of the hallway, and in a final check scanned the steps above me. All I saw was a strip of Erik's flaming cape before I shut the door, breathing raggedly and muttering rather loudly to myself:

"He went up higher! He-he's coming back down!"

"It's him!" Raoul cried, striding towards me and making for the door. "This time he won't escape!" My friend was terribly angry with whomever he thought I was speaking of, and I could only narrow my eyes in confusion.

"Whom do you speak of? Who will not escape you?" He tried to push past me, but I flung my arms across the door. If Raoul went for Erik I knew beyond a doubt that he would be killed. And I…Well, I did not want to think of how he would deal with me after such a betrayal.

"_Who?_" His eyes flashed. "Don't play games with me, Christine! It is your friend, your _angel of music_! The one who hides behind that grotesque mask of death, and whose bony face was my final sight at the Perros graveyard!" He paused to draw in a shaky breath. "I _will_ unmask him, mademoiselle. And we will stand face to face with no veils or lies, and I will finally know who loves you and whom you love!"

My eyes widened at his last bitter statement. _Whom I love?_ What had made him say such a thing? I felt no love for my captor! I-I…But even my mind I could not say that I hated Erik, not even that I disliked him. My mind quickly drew the over used conclusion of pity. Yes, I felt pity for Erik and nothing more. That was I had returned, and why I would continue to do so. Pity for poor, unhappy Erik.

Raoul dodged once more for the door, but I had made a barrier with my arms and would not budge for all the world. "Raoul, if you love me at all, you will not try for this handle again!" He took a step back, glaring at me with a mixture of hurt and annoyance.

"I loved you once, mademoiselle Daae, or I believed I did." He gave a terrible, almost drunken laugh. "Can you imagine? There was a time when I had only one goal in life: to give my name to a common ballet rat!" He sunk the floor, blinding out the world around him by sticking him palms to his eyes. "Oh, I'll die of shame!"

Tears were flowing freely down my pale visage, sticking between the velvet of my domino and my own flesh. He loved me…and he thought it shameful. I felt a surge of anger.

"I risked my life to see you tonight, and you have done nothing but berate and mock me." My voice was as cold as my trembling body. "Farewell, Raoul. I fear I will never see you again." He continued his sarcasm by catching me at the door.

"Oh, but you must let me come and applaud you from time to time!" I froze, and turned coolly to face him.

"I will never sing again," I shot back, thinking of my confinement.

"Really?" he asked satirically. "So, he has decided to take you off the stage? Well, you have my congratulations, but surely we will meet again for an evening in the Bois!"

"No, my friend, not in the Bois or anywhere else. I will never see you again." He seemed to calm, or at least pour out a few drops of concern into his next words.

"Ah…will you tell me then, at least, to what darkness you are returning? For what hell, or should I say paradise?" I nearly scoffed. _Now_ he would settle for information.

"I came here tonight to answer that question. I came here to put your inquisitive mind to rest because I care about you, and I do not like to think you are worrying. But I see now that you have lost faith in me, my friend. I will not ask you to share my burden. Farewell." His mouth parted as his eyes filled with an angry concern.

"Can't you at least tell me what all this means? You seem so free, going for carriage rides and coming to this ball. Yet, your frightened, constrained. Who is this angel of music?" His voice began to rise. "Mama Valerius believes your tale because she has never expected you to lie to her, and I was as taken in as she! But you are deceiving us, Christine, and it isn't fair! What is the game you're playing?"

"This isn't a game, Raoul, this is a tragedy!" _Tragedy— _Such a fitting word. Erik was a tragedy, our encounter was a tragedy, and now my confinement had raised the bar. I took off my mask as I sunk against the door. His gasp startled me, and I looked to him.

"Oh, my darling!" he moaned. "I-I am sorry!" Did I truly look so terrible? Perhaps my face was paler… and I hadn't gotten much sleep…

"Can you forgive me?" He pleaded with me, and I knew I had no choice but to forgive his harshness. After all, these past two weeks must have startled him, and who knows what had gone through his mind from the first time he heard me speak of my angel.

"Yes…" I said softly, gravely. "Now, farewell." To my surprise, he did not follow me as I fled down the hallway. Once I had turned the corner I let out a painful moan. I had risked my life only to make him more confused, but what else could I have done? Raoul was still only a boy, I realized. He was rash and unthinking, and I could not have trusted him to keep my secret.

I made my way to my dressing room, sat in the little stool near my mirror, and waited for Erik's arrival. I was exhausted, mentally and physically, and I let my head fall against my arms, resting them on my dresser. My eyes had been shut for some time before I heard a soft, lulling melody from inside the walls. Though faint, I would recognize it anywhere.

"I'm here, Erik," I reassured him, and then smiled sleepily. "You're the one who's late." His singer grew louder, perhaps bolder, and I swayed lightly to its familiar tune. Then the clink of the mirror opening reached my ears, and I got up.

_Destiny has chained you to me forever! _

His voice rang out clear, and he repeated the line with possessive force until I stood before him. His hand had been outstretched, but he retracted it, as always, figuring even his gloved hand would disgust me. My eyes softened at this revelation. Poor Erik!

His eyes glowed as bright as his costume in the surrounding darkness, and I knew that he did not wear the death mask. For a moment we looked at one another in the silence I decided to eventually break.

"Did…did you have a nice time?" My voice was frail, nervous, and I felt suddenly silly. He nodded stiffly.

"Yes, it was rather…interesting. And how did you fare in the world of the living?" His voice was gentle, joking.

"My night was uneventful," I lied quickly, feeling my cheeks growing warm.

"That is understandable. There were few activities, besides the occasional dance. I am sorry I took so long in getting back." He paused. "Perhaps next year we can goas a couple. Will you promise to save me a dance, mademoiselle?" He mocked me, I knew, but there was a strange longing well concealed in his voice that made my heart soften.

"Of course," I said softly, taking a step away from the mirror and closer his side. His eyes bore into me, but he broke the contact with a quick:

"We should head home."

I nodded, and as we walked down the catacombs I could not help but notice his heavily gloved hands. They teased me, seemed to reach out to me with every swinging moment to ask, "May I have this dance?" They were dark and lonely, but strangely inviting. Poor Erik, his own mother had never been so kind. _Has he ever been held?_ I caught myself thinking, and also, _gloved hands are not death hands; they are not sickly, are they? _No, I answered, they are not.

Quickly, without thinking of a motive or consequence, I gently snaked my hand in his, leather on silk, and entwined our fingers. He jerked around so suddenly and with such force that my breath caught in my throat, and I stumbled slightly. Had I offended him? I tried to drop my hand, but he held to it like a lost child clinging to their favorite stuffed toy.

We were both at a loss for words, and I looked helplessly to Erik who continued to stare at our hands. It was one of the few times I had ever seen him rendered speechless, and although I felt no fear, my heart pounded with an uncomfortable feeling. When he finally did speak, his words were so slow and quiet I could hardly comprehend him.

"Why…why would you…"

"I'm sorry," I said quickly, "I didn't—" But he didn't let me finish, and continued almost pathetically:

"You would…take my hand?"

"Well, yes," I said frankly, unwilling to say it had been because he wore gloves. He nodded softly, almost tremulously, and his palm rubbed against mine as he pressed our hands together. Even in the darkness I knew he was weeping silently, and when I heard his last words before we began our journey again, I was crying, too.

"Thank you."

* * *

A/N: Um, hey guys. -Laughs nervously- I know you all probably hate me right now, because it HAS been forever in a day since I updated, but I don't know what to say except sorry. Losing interest isn't exactly an excuse, but it is what happened, so… Anyway, I'm back now. I got over my Star Wars obsession, and my hatred of Christine and new love for Erik/Meg fics, lol. I don't know what to make of this chapter except that I found it awkward, probably OOC especially towards the end, and I realize that I am veering from the original story now. Raoul wasn't in it very much, because I didn't want to write about him and I'm lazy, so sorry for that. ;) Anyway, your feedback on this chapter is really needed, so please review! Thank you all for being patient and continuing to read!

Quiet2885—Thank you so much, I'm glad I got more into Leroux with that last chapter. Also, you were I think the only one to be nice about Christine's reaction to Erik's mask, so hugs for that! –hugs-

Allegratree—Lol, I didn't even realize Nadir was a Susan Kay name, but he's the daroga. Thanks for being too tired to flame! ;)

Caroline—Okay, I am going to flame YOU for being an IDIOT! What the heck kind of a review was that! You're obviously ignorant, or unable to read, because I posted in the summary that this is a Leroux based fic. Now, if you know anything about Phantom, which you obviously don't, you would know that Leroux's Erik only had a full black mask. Don't like, don't read—it's that simple. I don't care what your preference is, and I certainly don't care if you read this story or not. Alright, I'm done with my honorary B fit.

Reading Redhead—Thank you! And yeah, if you thought I was evil before, I'm pretty sure you think I'm the devil by now. Haha!

Wendela—Lol, I click the review button too quickly a lot, so I sympathize. I'm sorry I deleted your fav line, I'll go back and put it in for you, because I do think she would be lonely, despite the reason for her return. Aww, of course you can save this story, thank you! Yeah, I know the mask thing was hokey, lol, but I'm too lazy to think of a scene to replace it. ;) You wrote a Leroux based fic! I am SO reading it! Please give me the link, or can I find it on here? I'll go look!

Blaze—Yes, as a matter of fact, I DO believe you made the record book! ;) I giggled at my own stupidity after reading this review. Yes, Erik's a liar. Lol. I'll have to go back and change that. And I also went back and re-read the part where Christine kind of accuses Erik of murder, and I hated it. It went really fast, was random, and your right when you say that Christine never had a reason to believe Erik was a killer. So, I should have it changed by the time you read this. About his Red Death costume…cough Well, Gerry's was hotter. ;) Ack, be nice to Raoul, I know…hehe. Well, I kinda sorta tried, but I have a feeling this chapter will be heavily critiqued anyway, so lay it on me! ;)

Miranda7911—Thank you, you made a really good point with Christine's nonchalant response to the doorbell ringing near the end of the book. I've gone back and changed it, so yeah…

Also, big thank you's to: Red Rose, Chocolate Covered Icicles, Clever Lass, H. Sibelius, and Mini Nicka.


	14. Trusting You

"Erik?" I asked the next morning over breakfast. He set down his saucer and waited for me to continue. "I…I was wondering if you'd…"

"My dear, you may ask me anything you like." I sighed softly.

"Would you let me visit my mother today?" The expression on his face remained somber, but I saw his eyes flash with something akin to disappointment the moment the words were out. "I swear I would go to her home only," I tried to reason, "and it would just be for a few hours. She is so lonely, and she worries about me_. Please_."

"Christine," he said gently, "I know how much you miss your mother."

"Then I may go?" I asked eagerly. He nodded, and there was something sad in his decision.

"Yes, but you must promise to return tonight. Will you do that for me, Christine?"

"Yes," I said firmly, and then: "I should hurry, if I do not want to be late coming home." The word _home_ rolled off my tongue so freely that I didn't have time to bite it back, but I instantly regretted it. Erik showed no acknowledgement of the statement, but I was sure he had noticed it for what it was: a sign of my growing attachment to him and his world. Head bent, I went quickly to retrieve my coat.

"I will escort you out to the carriage," he told me at the door, and I nodded, taking the arm he offered me.

At the gate to the Rue Scribe I paused, and turned to him. "Thank you," I said, "for letting me visit her. Your trust means a great deal to me."

He continued to simply stare at my face, and when I looked down to avoid his intensity I noticed that his hands were shaking as they inched closer to mine, but he pulled his gloved—_gloved!_—hand back, and clenched it into a fist of pitiful self control. I had not noticed all morning that he had been wearing gloves, and the revelation startled me. Why wear gloves now, when his hands had been openly displayed for the past two weeks? _Because he wants contact, _my mind answered. _Because he longs for affection._

Poor, unhappy Erik! How could I be so cruel as to deny him a touch of my hand? Surely I would do as much for a friend, for Raoul… Shaking all thoughts of the Viscount from my mind, I took Erik's gloved hand in mine, and gently squeezed my flesh against the material. The ring Erik had given me rubbed like a soothing reminder against his own finger. When I looked up at him I saw that he had his eyes closed, and dull tears ran from out from under them.

"Oh, Christine," he whispered reverently, and then, as his eyes opened: "You should be quick, my dear."

"I will be," I said softly. I firmly pressed my hand against his once more before untangling our fingers, and falling from his grasp. I vowed not to look behind me as I fled to the carriage.

* * *

I took my coat off at the door, and hung it on the rack before inquiring of the maid my adoptive mother's whereabouts.

"She's in her room, as usual," the woman sighed, and I nodded in gratitude.

When I came into the room, Mama Valerius squinted as though registering my presence. Then she broke out into a grin that was full of both relief and joy. "Oh, Christine!" she exclaimed. "I was beginning to think your angel would never let you visit! Come, my child, sit at my side. I want to hear all about what has happened!" I sighed and guiltily shifted my eyes to the side before doing as told.

"Oh, mama," I shook my head slowly, "nothing—well, I mean…" How could I tell her, the woman who had believed so strongly in the angel of music for my sake?

"Child, you're trembling!" her voice resounded with concern. She put a hand to my face, and I closed my eyes against the comforting gesture. "You must not keep silent," she said gently, "you will worry me to death!"

"It is nothing bad, mama," I tried to argue, but my tears betrayed me. She took her hand in mine, and then stilled, rubbing her thumb over my ring finger. The ring! It was too late to pull back, and I could only bite my lip in anticipation.

"A wedding band?" she breathed. "Christine, when did this happen?"

"It-it was a gift, mama. I'm not yet married."

"But you intend to be." It was not a question. "Was it a gift from your angel, child?"

"Yes," I said softly, eyeing the band instead of returning her gaze. "But—"

"Then he does love you," she said, and her voice took on a warm tone.

"Yes, he does," I said, swallowing down the smile that threatened to overtake my features. "But it isn't what you think. He—"

Our conversation was interrupted by the intrusion of Raoul de Chagny as he burst into the room. We stared at each other, his eyes wide as though I were a ghost, and mine wide in shock. I had no idea what business he had in coming to my mother's home, but I was sure he hadn't expected to find me with her. I rose quickly from my place at Mama Valerius' side, and politely held my hand out for him to take. My eyes narrowed in confusion when he did not receive the gesture, and I let my hand drop.

"Raoul?" I asked.

"M. de Chagny!" Mama chimed in, sitting up against her headboard to take the scene in. "Do you not know our Christine? Her good genius had sent her back to us!" Her eyes sparkled as she glanced to me.

"Mama, hush!" My tone was not disrespectful, but worried. "Raoul, what are you doing here?"

"Her good genius, madam?" Raoul replied, completely ignoring the question I had posed. "I would not receive him with such warmth and praise. Not if you had seen what I saw just last night. But you have transformed yourself, Christine. Where is the pallor and deathly rings that colored your face when last we met?"

"Raoul, I do not know what you are talking about, but I beg of you to keep silent until I have had a chance to explain these events to my mother." The desperation and anger in my voice did nothing to calm him.

"Why not explain to us both what has been going on, Christine? Believe me when I tell you that your safety interests me more than you know, and I cannot sit by while you hold that fatal tongue of yours! I have been your friend too long not be alarmed by your behavior, and this journey you are adamant about taking alone will drag us all down. I cannot watch as you become his victim!"

My lips parted in shock at the audacity of his words. How dare he speak so wildly of things knew so little of! Mama tossed about in her bed, and I turned my glaring features from his face.

"What are you talking about?" she cried. "Is Christine is danger?" I shook my head at Raoul, begging him to wait, to keep silent, anything but answer what I knew he would.

"Yes, Madame," he replied bravely.

"Heavens!" Mama gasped. "You must tell me everything, Christine! Why did you try to reassure me?" I glanced helplessly from her to Raoul. "What danger is this, M. Chagny?"

"Mama, there _is_ no danger! Raoul, stop this at once! You know nothing of what you are speaking!"

"Then let me hear your version, mademoiselle!" I opened my mouth, but I could not tell him. After I had shut it, he continued. "I know enough to know that an imposter is abusing your good faith," he spat lightly.

"The angel of music is an imposter?" Mama asked, bewildered. It was too much to bare, and as I clamped my hands over my ears I cried:

"There is no angel of music!" My heavy breaths were the loudest sounds in the still room. I looked apologetically to my mother as my arms lowered to my sides. Raoul's eyes fell with my arms, and it wasn't until I saw his almost frightened expression that I knew what had caught his attention. Blushing furiously, I tried to hide my hand in the folds of my dress, but it was too late.

"A wedding band, mademoiselle?" he asked gravely.

"It was a gift!" I argued, clutching the hand that wore it. "Only a gift, for I have no husband and I'll never marry!" Raoul's eyes narrowed cynically as he tried unsuccessfully to hide his hurt.

"As you have no husband, that ring could only have been given by the man who wishes to make you his wife! Why torture me still more, Christine? That ring you wear is a promise, and that promise has been accepted!"

"That is what I said!" Mama chimed in.

"And what she answer?" he asked. Grabbing a hold of his sleeve, I turned him back to me and answered exasperatedly:

"What I chose! Raoul, I have permitted this rude interrogation to go on for long enough. It is time you left!"

"Forgive me," he said, but there was no sincerity in his eyes. "It is concern that has driven me to meddle in affairs you no doubt believe have nothing to do with me. But allow me, mademoiselle, to tell you what I have seen, or think that I have seen. Trust me when I say it is more than you suspect." My blood ran cold as I asked:

"And what do you believe you have seen?"

"I saw your ecstasy at the sound of his voice beyond the wall! Yes, your absolute ecstasy! That is what makes me ill, Christine, knowing you are under a dangerous spell. And yet you seem aware of this imposter, because today you have admitted that there is no angel of music. Why did you follow him, then? Why did you stand up, features radiant, as though you were really hearing angels? It is a dangerous voice, for I too was fascinated by the sound of it, so much that I did not see you pass, but you must have, because where the voice went I am sure you followed! In the name of heaven and your father who resides there now, tell us to whom the voice belongs! Come, Christine, the name of the man! The name of the man who has the audacity to put a ring on your finger!"

"I would not speak of _his_ audacity after the display I have seen from you today, M. de Chagny," I replied gravely. "As for the answer you so desperately seek, you will never know his name." My mind was wild with rage at the thought of him, once again, spying on me. How dare he belittle me so, and characterize Erik as something so vicious!

"If she does love that man," Mama said, raising her voice on my behalf, "it is none of your concern."

"Alas, madam," Raoul spoke softly, and the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes was enough to make me regret my words, "I believe she does love him. But it is not only this that drives me to despair. I am quite certain the man Christine loves is not worthy of her love!"

"I am to be the judge of that!" I said, and thought of how idiotic my friend sounded. He obviously thought himself a much more worthy choice, but his actions were proving him to be spiteful and ill tempered.

"When a man," continued Raoul, "adopts such romantic methods to entice a young girl's affections…"

"The man is a villain, or the girl is a fool? Is that it?" I asked harshly.

"Christine!" he pleaded, but I shook my head fervently.

"Why do you insist on condemning a man you have never seen, whom no one knows and whom you yourself know nothing of? It cannot be for my welfare so much as your own jealousy!" I spat the last part, evoking from him an affronted glare.

"At least I know the name of the man, the name you thought to keep from me forever. Your angel of music is called Erik!" My heart hammered in my chest, only adding to the sickly dizziness that overtook me in that moment. I could _feel_ my blood draining from me, leaving me with a ghostly pallor.

"How-how did you—"

"You told me yourself mademoiselle, by answering him the other night in your dressing room. 'I am here, Erik.' Were those not your elated words? Tell me if I am wrong!"

"This is the second time you have listened at my door!" I accused, clenching my fists.

"I was not listening outside the door, I was watching from inside your dressing room!"

"_Inside my…_! Oh, Raoul," I moaned, "Did you want to be killed?"

"Perhaps," he said softly, and that one word was so full of love and despair that I truly felt regret for all of the harsh words spoken between us in this last hour. Taking his hands in mine, I spoke with gentle urgency.

"Raoul, you must forget the man's voice. Do not even remember his name. And I beg you, above all, not to come to my dressing room again, unless I send for you."

"And will you promise to send for me sometime, Christine?"

"I cannot…"

"Then I cannot do as you ask."

"Raoul…" I sighed dejectedly. "Fine, if I can send for you, I will try tomorrow."

"If I see you then, I swear to do as you have asked." He took my hand in his and kissed it lightly. My flesh still tingled from where his flesh met mine, even after he had gone. It was there in the silence that I began to sob, burying my face in my hands and coming to kneel by my mama. She put her arm around me, trying to bring me near with comforting pats.

"Oh, mama!" I cried. All I heard in response was the gentle rhythm of her Shhh's, but it was enough.

"Christine," she spoke gently after I had calmed, "I do not wish to make you speak of things that obviously upset you so, but I am so worried, child. I want to be your confidant; you do not have to endure this secrecy, and I promise not to tell the Viscount." I brushed the tears from my eyes, and took in a deep breath.

"Do not believe him, Mama, when he says I am in danger. Yes, the angel is a man, but he is a good man, and I trust him because he loves me, and he would never harm me! Never…" I paused. "Please do not ask for any more answers. I promise one day to reveal everything."

"But do you love him?" she insisted. I shut my eyes tightly.

"Do not ask me."

* * *

A/N: Geez, I finally got this one out! Sorry about the wait, although it wasn't near as long as last time, but I've been busy. Anyway, I did not like this chapter, or I can't stand the first half. I know it's fluffier than usual, and I'm sorry for that. Any suggestions would be REALLY appreciated. Thank you!

Quiet2885—Hunt me down? Good thing I came back, then, lol. Thank you so much, your reviews are always very uplifting. I hope this chapter was in character, but I'm really not sure. I felt like I was being a little cruel to Raoul, hehe. Oh well, the fop can shove it. ;)

Clever Lass—Thank you! And yes, I do believe I'll have her take his ungloved hand somewhere in the very near future. hinthint

Hsibelius—Awww, thank you! Your compliment on my characterization of Erik means a lot! )

Wendela—Actually, I lost my book before writing the last chapter, and I still have not been able to find it. So, I've been using an online translation as a resource. I'm glad you enjoyed reading it from someone else's POV, and I think your very correct in your characterization of Raoul: 'He's a spoiled pampered baby-boy, who begins to cry and start with self-pity immediately every time someone denies him something.' I looked for your story, but I only got to read the first chapter. It was very good from what I saw, and I'll try to finish it today.

Barb—Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

Ivy—Thank you, and don't worry, I won't stop this fic until it's absolutely done.

Reading Redhead—Thank you for not killing over SW, hehe. OMG GUESS WHAT! I saw Wicked on Saturday! Squuuuuuueeeee! You are going to LOVE it! –hugs- Stephanie J. Block is amazing as Elphaba! Okay, I'm calm now…right, back to the fic. I also wanted to thank you for forgiving my inconsistencies. It felt weird to pick up this fic again, so it was comforting to know you could understand.

A tragic Concept—Wow, you're the first person to bring up the dinner part from chapter twelve. I'm glad you liked it because I was a little afraid over it when no one replied to it. Anyway, thank you!

Ally—Haha, it's good to know someone doesn't mind the lack of Raoul. Too bad he's in it for most of this chapter. pout

Miranda—LOL! Nice idea to try and out-do Blaze's reviews in length, but I'm afraid she holds a record that can't be broken. –sigh- Thank you so much for beta-ing for me, it's very nice of you! Oh, and about the whole E/M fic thing…Um…I'm not sure I'm completely sucked out. –dodges fruit- I can't help it! Sorry about the Ballet Rat thing, too. I'll go back and change it, because, yes, I have been watching the movie a little too often, and it's affecting my mind. I have to keep reminding myself Raoul is not so hideous a person, and Erik is not sex on legs. Well, actually, that last part's debatable. ;) Also, I had a bit of a dilemma with the whole 'poor Erik' thing. With the way I set things up, she had no reason to pity Erik at that moment. Oh well, hopefully things worked out despite my changes. Thank you so much for the compliments on the holding hands part, I wasn't so sure about that. Although, I was in the fluffiest mood when I wrote this chapter, so I know I'll probably get some negative feedback on it. Oh well, I'm feeling impatient over their slow relationship. Again, thank you so much for beta-ing! –hugs- I hope you like this chapter, too!

Sariah Patterson—I know, I know, even I feel depressed writing these chapters some times because I can't make Christine jump on Erik, lol. But I'm trying to make this fic realistic, and in Leroux universe things move very slowly. Anyway, I'm glad you like it besides, and don't forget that I will end this E/C and there will be lovey-dovey goodness galore! ;)

NightDemoness— -glomps back- Ummm, in a galaxy far far away. ;)

Mini Nicka—Thanks and yes, Erik just may get his wish!


	15. If You Touch Me

I concealed my surprise at Christine's return that night, but I could not hide my irritation at her intentional avoidance. Whenever I came near she would step back, no matter how far apart we had been, and her answers to my questions were quick and hesitant.

"Did your visit go well?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," she replied, keeping her eyes on the floor or the wall as she hung her coat. It wasn't that I was unused to her even shrinking from the sight of my face, but as of late it had seemed, sometimes, that she didn't mind it so.

"Is your mother well?"

"Yes…" Christine sighed. "Actually, I do think I worried her a bit more than I intended."

"Ah, so you told her the truth?" I presumed.

"Sort of."

"My dear, is something wrong?" She shot me a worried glance, as though checking to see if I was accusing her or not. Taken aback by the features that looked into mine, I gaped in concern at her red eyes rounded in black rings of exhaustion.

"It-it has been a long day," she tried to cover up. Her head lowered as an unwanted blush crept over her cheeks, but I was glad for the color. "Would you mind if I were to retire?"

"Of course, Christine. Please, try to get some rest," I insisted, gesturing to her door with a wave of my hand. She managed a weak smile before falling from my sight.

…

"Christine, are you awake?" Her reply was undoubtedly muffled by the distance of two doorways, but I knew nonetheless that she was up. "My dear," I continued, "I forgot to inform you last night that rehearsals for Faust begin this afternoon. Will you be ready to attend?"

"Today?" she asked, and her voice was nearer. I straightened up when she flung open the door, looking surprisingly well. There was only a faint hint of gray beneath her eyes.

"Yes," I answered, "is that alright?"

"Oh, goodness," she said, and bit her lower lip in distain. I wished inwardly for her to stop bringing such attention to her mouth. "I wonder what the cast has thought of my absence. Are you sure I will be welcomed?"

"Of course. I promised to take care of everything, didn't I?" I paused. "And you, as always, will be marvelous."

"Thank you," she replied, avoiding my stare as she fidgeted with the hips of her dress. I could almost feel the weight of the tension, and decided in that moment she was nervous because she was guilty. She was hiding something from me.

"Christine, is there something you wish to tell me?" The color in her face drained, leaving her dramatically pale. She tried in vain to seem ignorant of the meaning behind my comment.

"What do you mean?" she breathed.

"You've been acting upset, I simply assumed…" I trailed off, leaving her to find a better argument.

"I am sorry if I've offended you with my worry," she said quickly, "but I did not leave my mother's house in the best emotional state."

"Ah, then I ask you to forgive my ignorance," I replied. She did not catch on to my light sarcasm. "Come, do you wish to warm up before rehearsals?" She nodded, and we went to stand before the organ.

* * *

Jammes became the leader of a rather obnoxious group of ballet girls who demanded incessantly—at least when the ballet mistress was not paying attention—to know where I had been for the past two weeks. Now it wasn't that I truly disliked Jammes, but the rude way in which she questioned me left me only to say: "Away," in an unusually haughty tone.

"I heard you were sick," she insisted, "that you were chained to a hospital bed as a result of some unspeakable disease."

"Well, _I_ heard you were off with your secret lover!" giggled another girl. I glared at them both, prepared to shoot back, when another voice broke in.

"Girls!" snapped La Sorelli, "Get back in your places this instant, or I'll tell the mistress about the joke I saw played on poor Meg this morning!" Jammes and her companion both turned exceedingly white before backing away and heading towards the rest of their group. I gave Sorelli a relieved, grateful smile, but she had already turned away.

The new managers seemed indifferent about my arrival. They nodded at my presence, but did not verbally acknowledge me. I wondered idly what Erik had said to them. _Erik_. I quickly glanced up to the forbidden box, and thought, for the tiniest second, that there was a flash of gold from behind the curtain. He had told me he would be watching my performance.

Today was merely a run through for our voices, and for the ballet's legs. Gabriel, the chorus master, strode back and forth while calling out instructions, and plans for improvement. I had been paying attention, at first. But then I saw the new arrival in the audience, and my script nearly fell in the grip of my trembling hands.

Raoul sat in the middle rows, closer to the end, in one of the plush, imitation velvet chairs. His expression was warm, and he seemed delighted that I had finally found him. I panicked, because I knew by now Erik would have seen him as well, but I could not stop during rehearsals to run to a ghost's box! They cast would have thought I'd gone mad! Instead I remembered the ring, and my angel's promise.

If you do accept this ring, nothing bad will happen to you or those you love while you stay in this theater. I swear it.

With a free finger, I gently stroked the gold band, then turned my head decisively upward. With Erik's box in sight, and my eyes gazing softly into the shadows, I mouthed: _You promised_. He must have understood.

The rehearsals ended badly. My nerves unfortunately got the better of me, and Raoul's presence loomed like a grim reminder of a sentence yet to be delivered. We were dismissed with a hand wave and a sigh, followed by a series of warnings no one took too seriously. Raoul stood, and jogged slowly down the isle to meet me. I shut my eyes tightly, putting my fingertips to my temple while I feigned a headache. I couldn't bring myself to look up to Erik's box.

"Christine! You were wonderful, Lotte!" It was hard to suppress a smile when he used my nickname with such fondness, and eventually I did give in.

"Raoul, you shouldn't be here!" I chided. "You don't know the danger you're putting yourself in."

"I wanted to see you," he insisted softly. I sighed, and prepared myself, for I knew what I had to do, and feared the consequence.

"Well, as long as you're here…" I smiled. "What do you wish to speak of?"

"Anything. I want you to know that the date of my departure for the polar expedition has been put forward. I have only three weeks here, and I'd like to spend them with you, if you'll permit me." My heart sunk at his words.

"Oh, please do not say such things! You know we cannot spend time together!"

"How can you keep denying me, Christine? I may die on that expedition!"

"I do not wish to deny you, Raoul! You are a good friend, and I care about you, but I am being sensible!"

"Sensible? You are not being sensible, you are being controlled! Controlled by your damn Erik!" I gasped, and flung my hand to his mouth, searching his eyes for an answer.

"How could you, Raoul?" I whispered. "He knows now. Oh, he knows!"

"As he should! He should know, also, that there is another player! He should know that _I love you!" _I stepped back, trembling and undoubtedly pale.

"You do not love me, Raoul, or if you do you shall never speak of it again." I paused, drawing strength. "Please, let us part on better terms."

"What better terms than terms of love are there? But I understand, I think. Or I will try to. If you wish me not to love you, then I will not confess again, and you can let your imagination do the rest."

"Thank you," I said quietly, suppressing my tears. Oh, Raoul! Did I love him, too? He reminded me of everything good: of my father, of the time when I really was Little Lotte. He embodied life outside the Opera House, and in turn the freedom I longed for. But he was not my escape, nor would he ever be, because in some strange way I wasn't sure I wanted to leave.

"How is Phillipe?" I asked. Raoul smiled.

The rest of the conversation was pleasant. We talked of his family, my father, the days when we were young. It was unlike the conversations I had with Erik; with my angel I spoke of music and art, and he spoke to me of love. I could speak to him about anything in the world and he would listen as though the words I spoke meant everything to him. Raoul was , but he was not

"I must go, Raoul." I told him firmly. He sighed.

"Will you call on me again?"

"I would like to," I confessed, "And I will, if I can."

"Then I must let you go." He took me gently by the shoulders and kissed my cheek lightly, boyishly. I blushed deeply, feeling the tingle on my bare flesh, and then I remembered.

"Goodbye, Raoul!" I called, fleeing frantically towards my dressing room. I was sure Erik had seen, and I had no doubt he was furious. Even before my door, I began to weep, and pulled on the handle with the eagerness of signing my own obituary.

The room was empty, but I knew Erik was near. I could almost feel his presence—his anger permeated the room and made me shiver. I walked slowly towards the mirror. "Erik?" It came out as a hoarse, barely audible whisper. I cleared my throat.

"Erik, I'm sorry. I know you told me not to speak to him, but, I…he's leaving in three weeks, Erik. I had to say goodbye!" The room seemed to drop temperature with every word I spoke. "Erik," I whispered worriedly, "Say something."

The faint clink of the mirror being opened brought my attention to the glass' center, where I knew he would be, and I waited in a fearful anticipation. Little by little, the mirror revealed him, but I was not prepared for the full sight of him. His eyes seemed like golden flames burning to their full potential in a dark cavern. His hands, which were no longer gloved, were now fists that shook involuntarily. I shrank away, more afraid than ever, for I had not seen him this angry since I first unmasked him. Oh, I thought he would kill me!

"Get up, Christine," he whipped icily, "We're going home." Trembling madly, I stood up fully, but was afraid to walk until he had turned around, and I could follow him. Our journey was spent in a silence broken only by out feet as they collided with the ground. He did not help me in or out of the boat, and only held open the door to make sure I would actually enter. Breathing in deeply, I had no choice but to follow this man into a place where, if he wished it, no one would hear or see me again.

He turned, and I cast my eyes down. "Please," I pleaded softly, letting fresh tears spill onto my gown, "Forgive me."

"You said you would not speak to him, Christine. You swore to me. Not only did you break your word, but—" Oh, he was so calm! So frighteningly calm! _"You let him kiss you!"_ His hand flung out from his its place at his side at struck the Parisian vase on the table. The painted porcelain flew against the wall and smashed. I screamed, and pressed my fist against my mouth to stifle a new string of sobs.

"Do you want the boy to live, Christine?" he asked casually.

"Oh, Erik, you wouldn't! Tell me you won't hurt him!"

"No!" He cried suddenly, causing me to stumble back. "No… I'm tired of your deceits, Christine. How did he know my name?"

"He…Erik, I'm afraid of you. I-I can't tell you."

"Did you _really_ go to your mother's house, my dear? Come, you can tell me."

"Yes," I answered, flickering my gaze to his flaming eyes. He nodded.

"And then what? Did you invite the boy over? Did you cling to him and sob at the thought of returning to me!"

"No…" I shook my head fervently, still cowering in the shadow of his tall form. "Erik, you promised…"

"Yes, I did. I promised not to harm those you love while you stay in my domain—_my_ Opera House. But did you see him outside of those boundaries, Christine? I told you it was dangerous!"

I was afraid to lie to him—afraid because he could see in my eyes the truth. "He came to find me, Erik," I said softly, defeat showing in my posture. "I didn't _invite_ him, and I didn't anticipate him coming. I didn't even want him there." He gave a short, hollow laugh that caused me to shiver.

"Didn't want him there? Yet I am quite sure you wanted him with you today."

"Is it so wrong to wish to speak with someone other than you? He has been my friend for most of my life, and yes, I enjoy speaking to him about our youths, about my father. Why must you condemn me for it?" The last part came out as a pleading whisper, and for a second I was sure I saw his face soften.

"I _condemn_ you, my dear…because I am frightened at the thought of losing you." It wasn't a sarcastic remark, or even an angry one. It was pathetically sincere. Before I could respond he spoke again. "To please you, I will make you a deal. You will be allowed to speak to him, but it must be inside the Opera House. However, at the end of three weeks all communication will cease. Is that clear?" I nodded.

"Yes." He cast his eyes down, as though trying to release his negativity before glancing at me again.

"You should wash up for dinner," he said quietly, motioning to my door. But I didn't walk in the direction he wished. In an act of gratitude I went and stood before him, trying my best not to be intimidating by his height or look of surprise.

"Thank you, Erik," I told him somewhat tremulously, and with the full knowledge that he wasn't wearing gloves I took his hand in mine. I wasn't prepared for the effect our contact had on me. His inevitable shiver ran through me as well, but not from icy feel of his fingers. As he caressed the top of my hand lovingly with his thumb, I felt what I had on occasions when we sang—when I was emotionally drawn to him. It was the feeling that welled up inside of me whenever the last note rang out from our voices, and we stared at each other from across the organ, out of breath and mesmerized. I felt connected to him. Startled, I withdrew my hand rather sharply.

"Christine…" I bolted from his sight, not even stopping as he cried, "Forgive me!"

I shook involuntarily as I shut my door, then sat on my bed and cried silently. I was frightened because I couldn't hate Erik, because I couldn't deny him my company, and because I no longer feared the touch of his death hands.

That night, I did not come out for dinner.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys, I'm really sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out but I had another family emergencies, and I've spent the better part of two weeks at the hospital. Also, this chapter was very difficult for me to write, and I'm not at all pleased with how it turned out. I need your feedback, so please review, and thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!

Quiet2885—I think it's funny how you're usually the first one to review my chapters. ;) I'm glad you didn't find my Raoul OOC, because I've had a hard time suppressing my urge to make him abusive or _something_ that will make Christine dislike him, lol. About the final lair scene…I haven't actually decided if I want to use it or make up something less similar. Either way, there will be a "marry me or die" scene, hehe.

Reading Redhead—AAAAAHHHHH! –is extremely jealous- I can't believe you get to see Wicked AND PotO in London! Lucky! Well, have fun in Europe! ;)

Rosebud tragedy—I saved my butt in the nick of time? Lol.

Clever Lass—Thanks! And hey, when you get that Leroux fic up, tell me! Oh, and are you ever going to update Denouement? I LOVE that story!

Girl wandering—Thank you so much! Lol, I'm glad someone else doesn't mind the E/M obsession I randomly had. It's over now, though. I was really into this fic called Who is this Angel, and I stayed up until one in the morning reading it, but then the author made Meg a prostitute and I was so mad I lost all interest in anything E/M. hehe.

Allegratree—LOL! Wow, you're the first person to ever catch that, or at least mention it. When ever I write I always wonder how Christine sees all of Erik's facial expressions because he IS so deformed, but I put them in there anyway because no one ever says anything. Now that you've mentioned it, though, I'll be more careful. Erik smirked in the last chapter, so I erased it for you, hehe.

Ally—I actually went back and took out a LOT of the mush, because when I read it over after getting feeback I realized, like you said, that the E/C was very rushed. Oh, and I went back and took out the "I trust you" part, as well, because you were right about that one, too. I don't think I'll have the Apollo Lyre's scene in this fic, or at least it will be very different, so yeah… Thank you!

Mominator—'That six months he predicted was just indigestion!' Lol! True, true! I hope Erik gets his happy ending, too. ;)

Darth Arachne—Thank you so much!

Wendela—Aw, thank you for your compliments on the first half! About the second half, I really didn't extend it that much. In the version I was reading their conversation was pretty long, but I understand what you're saying. As for Christine promising to call on Raoul the next day, that did happen in the book. Oh, guess what? I found my copy! It was underneath all the shirt in my dresser drawer. Don't ask me what it was doing there, lol. You have Susan Kay's Phantom…and you could send it to me? Seriously? I would love you SO MUCH!

Bellamyy—Wow. I mean, wow. Your review was one of the most flattering I've ever received, and I'm very grateful for your words. Although you're the reason I was nervous about posting this chapter. ;) You brought out a lot of good points, and I agree with you that Erik would most likely still be shunned, even in the world of 2005. I've seen specials on TV where disfigured individuals were interviewed, and society still treats them shamefully. And don't worry, this WILL end E/C, as promised. I'm incapable of writing anything else. Again, thank you so much, and I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story, and will give me your honest opinion on future chapters.

Milky White—Thanks! Lol, yes, self control has been a hard virtue for me to get down, but I think it's been worth it. Believe me, I WANT them off cuddling in a corner listening to romantic opera music, hehe. I'm also a hardcore E/C shipper, so it shouldn't be hard to guess the ending pairing for this phic. Darnit, it's not Mon? Grrr. Hey, do you think you could ask your mom the female version for me? I'd like to go back and fix it. Thanks!

Letthedreamdecend—Aww, thank you so much! You're review meant a lot to me, I squealed after reading it. ;) I hope you like this update, and thanks again, Anna!

Miranda—Lol, it's fine, I'm actually just glad you took the time to review at all. Haha, I actually didn't switch to Erik's POV; It was Christine sighing. Sorry about the Raoul bashing, I try not to be too harsh, but sometimes I can't help it. Oh well. Thank you so much for reviewing, and don't worry, I doubt Blaze will be mad. Abort your hiding place! ;)

Also, thank you to: LilyEvansPotter, Invader Vega, Sariah (Did you review twice? Lol), The Dragon Sorceress (Yeah, the Leroux version DID center around Raoul and Christine), Ripper (Still waiting for that disaster…hehe), Linny, Mini Nicka, Faust (Only three? I read way to many at a time, then…lol), and Sabrina Fair


	16. Something Like Forgiveness

I stood outside her door with my arms folded tightly across my chest in an attempt to confine my beating heart. My body felt stiff from hours of slaving before the instrument of my soul, and in my weariness—for I was no longer young—the cold began to nip at my flesh like mold eats away at the stone. For several long minutes I was afraid Christine had taken to barricading herself inside her room before I heard the relieving sound of rushing bath water. There the decision to wait for her eventual exit was made for me.

In the quiet dampness of the room I thought back to the previous night, and my stomach lurched with an unwelcome panic. When she had come towards me, her face red with the lasting impression of tears and a great relief reflecting in the shining color of her eyes, I had expected nothing more than a nod at best. But then she did something extraordinary (although not unthinkable, for I had dreamt of it many times). She touched me.

The feeling of her slender, smooth skin brushing against mine with full willingness and consciousness was the nearest I had ever come to bliss. It was an alien feeling to me, the silk of skin. But oh, this climax to a lifetime of detachment! I was bewildered, and in her eyes I saw the mirror of my own reaction.

But then she tensed, and her fingers trembled as she wretched them away. I stood still, alarmed and overwhelmed with confusion. "Forgive me!" I had cried out. But her figure, a blur of soft colors and curls, did not stop nor turn. I could not have been more hurt by the harsh slamming of her door than if she had shut it in my face.

"Christine…" It was a barely audible whisper. I stared down at the unhealthy, dirty pallor of my hands, and grimaced. They seemed to grow in hideousness, and I was plagued with an intense urge to cut them until I could see nothing but the encrimsoned features. And yet, I felt I could not do away with what held for me the dearest memory of my life.

For a second, and only one, heavenly second, she had loved me more than any being ever had. It was her own choice to press such delicate flesh against mine, to caress the sore muscles in my hand with a gentle brush. And had she not been the one to return regretless to my side? Hadn't she comforted me, sweet spirit that she was, in the hours when we shared a profoundly mournful intimacy?

Then, perhaps… Oh, even a little… had she cared for me? Truly, deeply cared for me?

Leaning against her door, I breathed out in a ragged breath, and took in the air as though I was happily drowning in the perfume that was distinctly Christine. The light _chink_ of the

bathroom door as she closed it behind her startled me out of my tense reverie, and I retreated to the soothing, encompassing shadows.

Christine fell from the ill-lit light of her room and stepped cautiously outside, her bare feet pattering against floor. She looked around with a nervous expression, biting down slightly on her perfectly formed bottom lip. Her eyes found the shadows, and I dared to believe she could see me.

"Erik?" It was a quiet, shaky question, and one I was afraid to answer. In a tone full of falsely mustered bravery, she continued. "I know you're there, Erik. _Please_ come out."

"Is there something you need, my dear?" I asked from my ebony shelter. My tone was flat, emotionless. Christine took a small step back in surprise. Then, glancing to the floor, she breathed out soothingly and took her hands away from the folds of her dress (she had been twisting the material rather distractingly).

"I behaved…terribly, last night," she admitted. "I do not know what came over me…" She paused, glancing cautiously in my direction before continuing. "But you did act rather harshly towards me, and you should have expected that I would be angry as well." Her latter sentence was not accusing; she was merely trying to justify herself.

"Yes, I was angry," I said softly. "And for that I ask your forgiveness." Silence dropped over us and I sighed, stepping from my place of darkness to stare sadly at her. "I do not _mean_ to hurt you, Christine. You must know that." If only the angel understood my jealousy. But it was an emotion she had rarely, if ever, dealt with, and I knew she could not grasp the reason for my inexcusable behavior.

"Yes, I know that, Erik," she said, her lips turning barely upward. "Thank you." She glanced down, then back up at me. Her hands twisted in the folds of her dress again. "And—and you should know that I never mean to hurt you, either."

"I know," I whispered. We stayed like that for a long minute, eyes locked while we contemplated our understanding. Then, afraid the temptation to brush against her feeble smile was too much, I cleared my throat. "Are you hungry, my dear?" I asked.

"A little," she said, and so I nodded and led her into the dining room.

Our morning meal was unusually pleasant. The atmosphere was not so tense as I thought it would be. Although Christine mostly kept her eyes averted to her plate, I could sense that she was in better spirits, and I was glad for it.

"Rehearsals are today," I commented lightly.

"Yes," she acknowledged.

"We have," I continued, pausing thoughtfully, "roughly four hours of free time. Would you like to warm up?" A smiled flickered on her lips, and she nodded.

"I would," she said, and scooted in her chair before joining me at the side of the organ.

I played something genuinely peacefully at first, my hands plummeting gently to the ivory keys. It was a reverent tune, one of the many I harbored to please my beloved. And yet, I myself found solace in the music, and gradually shut my eyes to breathe in the notes. When I looked back up I noticed Christine had been staring almost wide-eyed and rather intently at my hands.

"You play so beautifully," she said quietly. "As though you were born for no other purpose." The corners of her lips began to perk, but I could only nod grimly.

"Perhaps I _was_ born for only this purpose," I said with equal placidity.

"Oh, no—" Christine began quickly, "I didn't mean it like that! I just meant—you play so innately, Erik…"

"I do, don't I?" I smiled slightly up at her. "Well, thank you, my dear."

Christine seemed easier after that. She breathed out, positioning herself in the necessary stance I had taught her in our earlier sessions. "Scales?" I asked.

She nodded, and we began our work.

* * *

Rehearsals for **_Orfeo ed Euridice_ **continued to be grueling. It was, for the most part, a beautiful production in which my part was sadly neglected. I had but one solo, and for the past two days I hadn't been in any of the rehearsed scenes. Off the side of stage, the only thing that kept me awake was the constant watch I felt I needed to have over incoming audience members. Although I had yet to see Raoul, I wanted to know when he came, if ever he did. I listened to the haunting music that played to my right, and began unconciously swaying to the lyrics of Orfeo's aria.

_Farewell, my sighs,  
my desires give me hope:  
for her I will suffer all things  
and brave any pain or danger.  
From the dark shores I shall  
set sail on the Stygian flow  
and the dread Tartarus'  
Furies shall I overcome.  
For her I shall dare all  
and challenge all comers._

Tears began to well up along the brim of my eyes. Erik had sung this once and I had watched his solemn figure in the dark, crying even then over the brilliant emotions only his soul could produce. The acclaimed man who sung it now seemed unfit for the role, his voice somehow lacking in both intensity and talent. Looking up from my silent remembrance, I saw familiar boyish locks falling over the face of the man jogging down the isle. Quickly wiping away my tears, I stood and began walking around to the end of the stage.

"Hello, Raoul," I said quietly, hoping that the other performers would not take notice of my reprehensive chatter.

"Lottie," he breathed, smiling up at me. "How are you?"

"I'm doing alright," I responded honestly. "It's good to see you again."

"It's always good to see you," he agreed. "Might I come up there? I brought something for you." His smile was so disarmingly sweet that I could hardly refuse him. I motioned for him to jump up, and after glancing up at me in mock embarrassment he made the leap onto the stage.

I folded my arms, smiling curiously at him. "You said you have something for me?" Raoul grinned mischievously in return.

"I do, Little Lottie." From inside his pocket he produced a long velvet box, the kind I instantly recognized as a case for expensive jewelry. He opened it slowly, watching my expression with anticipation. Inside, its chain stretched across from side to side, was a golden necklace. The pendant that weighed down the middle was a small violin; a match for the instrument my father used to play.

"Oh," I whispered, my brow furrowing softly as I admired the object. "Oh, Raoul." I glanced up at him, tears stinging in my eyes. "It's beautiful."

"I was hoping you'd like it. I had it specially made for you, as a token to remember your father by." He took it out of its case before glancing hesitantly at me. "May I?"

I nodded, leaning my head to the side as I tried to disguise my burning cheeks and falling tears. The kindness behind the sentiment was almost too much. How could I hurt him by rectifying a wall between us, all for the sake of sparing Erik? Raoul was really such a good friend.

I let my hair fall back against my back, and looked up at him, grinning. "You are so kind, Raoul," I said sincerely, "thank you."

"It is enough to see you smile." I blushed, and he held out his arm in response. "Will you walk with me? I want to speak with you."

I glanced behind me at the stage still filled with unhappy managers and stressed performers. I bit my lip briefly before turning back to Raoul. "Of course," I said. After all, how much could I miss in the next few minutes? Once we were out in the hallways, I asked:

"What did you want to speak of?"

"As you know, I was planning on going on the expedition to the north at the end of the month. But I was wondering, if I didn't go—I thought you might—" He paused, drawing in a breath as he looked to the ground. "I love you, Christine—"

"Raoul!" I cut in.

"I know, I know. I promised not to tell you, but how can I not? I'll wait for you, Christine. I'll do all you ask of me. Just tell me what you want of me! I swear to do it!" His voice grew in passionate vehemence until he was breathing heavily, eyes locked on my hesitant expression.

"I simply can't, Raoul," I said slowly, shutting my eyes briefly as though to dull the pain. "You must know how much I care for you, but this isn't permitted. I shouldn't even be seeing you!"

"Then why are you?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer.

"Because you love me, too! You want to be with me, I know you do!"

My eyes shot dangerously in his direction. "Do not say such things!" I demanded. "You know very little of my heart!"

"I know enough for now. I know all you've let me see, Christine." His voice grew in softness, his eyes narrowing pleadingly. "I can take you away, my love. We can leave right now, and whomever it is that is holding you away from me won't dare to come near us. I'll protect you, I swear it. We can get married, Christine! I'll marry you today, if you wish!"

I began to cry at his words, so much that I had to bury my face in my hands. "Do not torment me!" I pleaded. "Please…"

He shook me gently, both hands on my shoulders. "Look at me," he demanded. I did as he wished, slowly lowering my hands. "Marry me," he repeated softly.

I shook my head fervently and tore myself from his grasp. I fled down the hall, not carrying about the people I passed or man who shouted my name from behind. I had to be alone, and the last place I was safe to cry was in my dressing room. Erik would find me, and he would be furious, again.

But where else could I seek solitude? I wanted so badly to see my mother; to visit my father at Perros. Only one person could grant me those visits, but the thought of seeing him now, of facing him after what I was sure he had just witness between Raoul and I, was notion that turned my stomach to rot. True, Erik had given me permission to speak with the vicomte, but the conversation we had just had I thought would surely be the breaking point.

I could think only of the quarters of the corpse de ballet as safe place, not simply because none of the members would be there, but because it had been my home for many years. As I walked down the hallway my eyes fluttered briefly in all directions. Was Erik above me even now, following on foot through the overhead rafters? I shuddered at the thought.

The door to the rooms wasn't locked. I remembered that it rarely was. My hand closed around the handle and I quickly closed the door shut, breathing out in more of a shudder as I slunk down against the wall. I shut my eyes, contemplating the last few moments.

Raoul wanted to marry me. Sweet, charming, handsome Raoul wanted to marry me. He was every girls dream, truly. I had seen the way members of the cast—the younger girls, anyway—looked at me when he came to see me, and I understood then how lucky I was to have him. Surely my friend was a rarity. And I did love him; very much, in fact. But it was a strange sort of love—a caring feeling, kind and sisterly. It hadn't always been that sort of love, but now it had to be, because of Erik.

My poor, unhappy Erik. How could I abandon him to flee with Raoul? It would break his heart, and I would not be the cause of so much unhappiness, not for someone who deserves so much more. I cared for Erik, too much to let him suffer at my hands. I decided then that I would just have to stay with my angel, until our opera season was finished, at least. And then I would come back to see him, whenever he wished! Just as I had given him my word to return before, I would swear to return to him time and again.

I shut my eyes and breathed in deeply. "I'll do it," I whispered. A voice echoed my words, so sudden and unexpected that my eyes shot open and my body jerked forward.

_"Christine…"_

"Erik?" I whispered. I stood quickly. One hand grasped the side of my skirt, while the other clasped around my newly acquired necklace. "Where are you?" I asked, and my voice dropped considerably. I felt as though the candles around the room were dimming, and the air from the cold corridor was seeping in. I shivered from those supposed changes.

"Go back to your dressing room, Christine," he commanded me in a voice so frighteningly calm that I was afraid to speak further. "I will meet you there."

"But, rehearsals…" I began lamely.

"Are finished," he said. There was a silent pause, then: "Go, Christine."

I nodded feebly, my hand shaking as it rested on the door handle. I turned behind only once, my eyes flickering to the opposite wall and ceiling. Then my gaze fell, and I walked back out into the hallway. It took me only a moment to walk to my dressing room, but longer to decide to actually enter. Erik's wrath had terrified me the night before, and I was afraid of a replay.

I did enter, though, and stood facing the mirror by the safety of the door. "Are you angry with me, Erik?" I asked him.

"I am never angry with you, Christine," he said, and his voice was no longer emotionless. His tone was sad, almost tired.

"Do you want me to come with you, then?" I asked. The mirror opened in response, revealing Erik's tall, poised form. He looked at me blankly. I supposed that was a good enough gesture for me to follow him, and so I did as told.

We walked, side by side, passed the initial dark and into the dimly lit hallway. I could not ignore Erik's eyes and their quick darts to the top of my chest. He seemed aggravated by the pendant that lay there. Sick of his jealous glances, I finally said: "Erik, it is only a gift. I accepted nothing but his token of friendship."

He whirled so quickly that I caught my breath, stepped back only to press against the wall, and brought my curled fingers against my chest. "Accepted only a token of his friendship?" he mimicked mockingly. "As if that _thing_ was really a token of _friendship!" _

"Erik, you're scaring me…" I whispered.

"Am I?" He laughed coldly, an attribute that had become more apparent during his now frequent rages. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear."

"You said this morning that you would never purposefully hurt me, Erik. You said…"

"Did you not make the same promise?" he accused. Then, breathing out heavily, his next remark was little more than a whisper: "You hurt me still, Christine. So badly…"

There were tears in my eyes now, but they stopped short when he spoke again. "And that is why I must do this. You can never leave me again, Christine. I can't… I can't sit by and watch you marry him. I won't!" His body was rigid, but his eyes flared with a deep sadness and regret. Yet for all his threats he did not dare to touch me, or even move.

"Never?" I breathed. "Erik, you wouldn't—"

"For you, I _would!" _he cried, his fists clenched and body shaking with barely restrained desperation. I cowered from him, backing up against the wall. But he relaxed his hands a little, and took up his right arm. His gloved fingertips neared my face, and I stared up at him with frightened features. "Do not fear me, Christine," he said. "Even if I give you reason to, please…"

He looked at me regretfully, and I slowly fell to my building sadness. A feeling of bare compassion urged me to reach out for his hand, but I neglected it. I was still afraid, and Erik knew that; my expression did not change as he studied me. "I have never tried to escape you, Erik," I whispered.

"No, no, you haven't," he agreed. "And you won't…" He continued to stare at me, although he had dropped his hand. I could hear his quiet breathing, the only sound between us in the darkness. Then, he turned away, almost nervously. I titled my head, wondering at his sudden behavior.

"I am sorry, Christine," he amended. "I will not confine you to this misery."

Relief flowed through me, although I had not been so alarmed by his threat as by his anger. I took a step towards him and peered up at his shoulder as I spoke. "I have told you before that I do not mind being down here with you, Erik," I reminded him.

He looked at me strangely and I felt the weight of his bemusement, so much that I shifted my gaze to the ground. Then he nodded, accepting my words with a simple gesture. We began walking again, side by side, and I realized as we strolled through the dimly lit hallway just what had been averted.

Erik had made me a promise, never to completely confine me without my consent. At first, the reverse of that promise had not seemed so unbearable. After all, I had lived with him for over two weeks, in a house devoid of sunlight or other company, and in that time I had never regretted knowing Erik and had even come to accept his way of life. But now, with space to think, I understood what a severe fate it would be. How could I stand to be cut off from everything familiar, forced to spend eternity with the source of my pain? The arrangement would hurt us both.

And yet, as I watched Erik from the corner of my eye, I could not quench the dreadful feeling that he had been far too serious; that even his promise would not hinder him if he believed he had no other choice.

I continued walking, thinking that maybe, next time, I would not be so lucky.


End file.
